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CELT   AND    SAXON 


CELT  AND  SAXON 


BY 

GEORGE    MEREDITH 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1923 


COPYSICHT,   1910,  BT 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


College 
''  library 

Soo  4> 
CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAOB 

I.    Wherein  an  Excursion  is  Made  in  a  Celtic 

Mind 3 

II.    Mr.  Adister 10 

III.  Caroline 17 

IV.  The  Princess 30 

V.    At  the  Pl/u^o,  Chiefly  Without  Music    .      .  37 

VI.    A  Consultation:    with  Opinions  upon  Welsh 

Women  and  the  Cambrian  Race     ...  43 

VII.    The  Minla-ture 59 

VIII.    Captain  Con   and   Mrs.   Adister   O'Donnell  74 

IX.    The  Captain's  Cabin 91 

X.    The  Brothers 106 

XI.    Introducing  a  New  Character    .       .       .       .114 

XII.    Miss  Mattock 125 

XIII.  The  Dinner-Party 133 

XIV.  Of  Rockney 149 

XV.    The  Mattock  Family 171 


Vl  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOD 

XVI.    Of  the  Great  Mr.  Bull  and  the  Celtic  and 
Saxon  View  of  Him:    and  Something  of 

Richard  Rockney 196 

XVII.    Crossing  the  Rubicon 219 

XVIII.    Captain  Con's  Letter 237 

XIX.    Maes  Convalescent 250 


CELT  AND   SAXON 


CELT  AND  SAXON 


CHAPTER  I 

WHEREIN  AN  EXCURSION  IS  MADE  IN  A  CELTIC  MIND 

A  YOUNG  Irish  gentleman  of  the  numerous  clan  O'Don- 
nells,  and  a  Patrick,  hardly  a  distinction  of  him  until  we 
know  him,  had  bound  himself,  by  purchase  of  a  railway- 
ticket,  to  travel  direct  to  the  borders  of  North  Wales,  on  a 
visit  to  a  notable  landowner  of  those  marches,  the  Squire 
Adister,  whose  family-seat  was  where  the  hills  begin  to 
lift  and  spy  into  the  heart  of  black  mountains.  Examining 
his  ticket  with  an  apparent  curiosity,  the  son  of  a  greener 
island  debated  whether  it  would  not  be  better  for  him  to 
follow  his  inclinations,  now  that  he  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
pay  for  the  journey,  and  stay.  But  his  inclinations  were 
also  subject  to  question,  upon  his  considering  that  he  had 
expended  pounds  English  for  the  privilege  of  making  the 
journey  in  this  very  train.  He  asked  himself  earnestly 
what  was  the  nature  of  the  power  which  forced  him  to  do  it 
—  a  bad  genius  or  a  good :  and  it  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of 


4  CELT    AND    SAXON 

answer,  inasmuch  as  it  silenced  the  contending  parties,  that 
he  had  been  the  victim  of  an  impetus.  True;  still  his 
present  position  involved  a  certain  outlay  of  money  simply, 
not  at  all  his  bondage  to  the  instrument  it  had  procured 
for  him,  and  that  was  true;  nevertheless,  to  buy  a  ticket 
to  shy  it  away  is  an  incident  so  uncommon,  that  if  we  can 
but  pause  to  dwell  on  the  singularity  of  the  act,  we  are 
unlikely  to  abjure  our  fellowship  with  them  who  would 
not  be  guilty  of  it;  and  therefore,  by  the  aid  of  his  reflec- 
tions and  a  remainder  of  the  impetus,  Mr.  Patrick  O'Don- 
nell  stepped  into  a  carriage  of  the  train  like  any  ordinary 
English  traveller,  between  whom  and  his  destination  there 
is  an  agreement  to  meet  if  they  can. 

It  is  an  experience  of  hesitating  minds,  be  they  Saxon 
or  others,  that  when  we  have  submitted  our  persons  to  the 
charge  of  public  companies,  immediately,  as  if  the  re- 
nouncing of  our  independence  into  their  hands  had  given 
us  a  taste  of  a  will  of  our  own,  we  are  eager  for  the  per- 
formance of  their  contract  to  do  what  we  are  only  half 
inclined  to;  the  train  cannot  go  fast  enough  to  please  us, 
though  we  could  excuse  it  for  breaking  down;  stoppages 
at  stations  are  impertinences,  and  the  delivery  of  us  at  last 
on  the  platform  is  an  astonishment,  for  it  is  not  we  who 
have  done  it  —  we  have  not  even  desired  it.  To  be  im- 
perfectly in  accord  with  the  velocity  precipitating  us  upon 
a  certain  point,  is  to  be  going  without  our  heads,  which 
have  so  much  the  habit  of  supposing  it  must  be  whither 
we  intend,  when  we  go  in  a  determined  manner,  that  a 


EXCURSION    IN    A    CELTIC   MIND  5 

doubt  of  it  distracts  the  understanding  —  decapitates  us; 
suddenly  to  alight,  moreover,  and  find  ourselves  dropped 
at  the  heels  of  flying  Time,  like  an  unconsidered  bundle,  is 
anything  but  a  reconstruction  of  the  edifice.  The  natural 
revelry  of  the  blood  in  speed  suffers  a  violent  shock,  not 
to  speak  of  our  notion  of  being  left  behind,  quite  iso- 
lated and  unsound.  Or,  if  you  insist,  the  condition  shall 
be  said  to  belong  exclusively  to  Celtic  nature,  seeing  that 
it  had  been  drawn  directly  from  a  scion  of  one  of  those 
tribes. 

Young  Patrick  jumped  from  the  train  as  headless  as 
good  St.  Denis.  He  was  a  juvenile  thinker,  and  to  dis- 
cover himself  here,  where  he  both  wished  and  wished  not 
to  be,  now  deeming  the  negative  sternly  in  the  ascendant, 
flicked  his  imagination  with  awe  of  the  influence  of  the 
railway  service  upon  the  destinies  of  man.  SettHng  a 
mental  debate  about  a  backward  flight,  he  drove  across 
the  land  so  foreign  to  his  eyes  and  affections,  and  breasted 
a  strong  tide  of  wishes  that  it  were  in  a  contrary  direction. 
He  would  rather  have  looked  upon  the  desert  under  a 
sand-storm,  or  upon  a  London  suburb:  yet  he  looked 
thirstingly.  Each  variation  of  landscape  of  the  curved  high- 
way offered  him  in  a  moment  decisive  features:  he  fitted 
them  to  a  story  he  knew :  the  whole  circle  was  animated  by 
a  couple  of  pale  mounted  figures  beneath  no  happy  light. 
For  this  was  the  air  once  breathed  by  Adiante  Adister, 
his  elder  brother  Philip's  love  and  lost  love:  here  she  had 
been  to  Philip  flame  along  the  hill-ridges,  his  rose-world 


6  CELT   AND    SAXON 

in  the  dust-world,  the  saintly  in  his  earthly.  And  how  had 
she  rewarded  him  for  that  reverential  love  of  her?  She 
had  forborne  to  kill  him.  The  bitter  sylph  of  the  mountain 
lures  men  to  climb  till  she  winds  them  in  vapour  and  leaves 
them  groping,  innocent  of  the  red  crags  below.  The 
delicate  thing  had  not  picked  his  bones :  Patrick  admitted 
it;  he  had  seen  his  brother  hale  and  stout  not  long  back. 
But  oh  I  she  was  merciless,  she  was  a  witch.  If  ever 
queen-witch  was,  she  was  the  crowned  onel 

For  a  personal  proof,  now :  he  had  her  all  round  him  in 
a  strange  district  though  he  had  never  cast  eye  on  her. 
Yonder  bare  hill  she  came  racing  up  with  a  plume  in  the 
wind:  she  was  over  the  long  brown  moor,  look  where  he 
would:  and  vividly  was  she  beside  the  hurrying  beck 
where  it  made  edges  and  chattered  white.  He  had  not 
seen,  he  could  not  imagine  her  face:  angelic  dashed  with 
demon  beauty,  was  his  idea  of  the  woman,  and  there  is 
little  of  a  portrait  in  that;  but  he  was  of  a  world  where  the 
elemental  is  more  individual  than  the  concrete,  and  uncon- 
ceived  of  sight  she  was  a  recognised  presence  for  the  green- 
island  brain  of  a  youth  whose  manner  of  hating  was  to 
conjure  her  spirit  from  the  air  and  let  fly  his  own  in 
pursuit  of  her. 

It  has  to  be  stated  that  the  object  of  the  youngster's 
expedition  to  Earlsfont  was  perfectly  simple  in  his  mind, 
however  much  it  went  against  his  nature  to  perform  it. 
He  came  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  Miss  Adister's  Conti- 
nental address;   to  gather  what  he  could  of  her  from  her 


EXCURSION    IN    A    CELTIC    MIND  7 

relatives,  and  then  forthwith  to  proceed  in  search  of  her, 
that  he  might  plead  with  her  on  behalf  of  his  brother 
Philip,  after  a  four  years'  division  of  the  lovers.  Could 
anything  be  simpler?  He  had  familiarised  himself  with 
the  thought  of  his  advocacy  during  those  four  years.  His 
reluctance  to  come  would  have  been  accountable  to  the 
Adisters  by  a  sentiment  of  shame  at  his  family's  dealings 
with  theirs:  in  fact,  a  military  captain  of  the  O'Donnells 
had  in  old  days  played  the  adventurer  and  charmed  a  maid 
of  a  certain  age  into  yielding  her  hand  to  him ;  and  the  lady 
was  the  squire  of  Earlfont's  only  sister:  she  possessed 
funded  property.  Shortly  after  the  union,  as  one  that  has 
achieved  the  goal  of  enterprise,  the  gallant  officer  retired 
from  the  service:  nor  did  northwestern  England  put  much 
to  his  credit  the  declaration  of  his  wife's  pronouncing  him 
to  be  the  best  of  husbands.  She  naturally  said  it  of  him  in 
eulogy;  his  own  relatives  accepted  it  in  some  contempt, 
mixed  with  a  relish  of  his  hospitality:  his  wife's  were 
constant  in  citing  his  gain  by  the  marriage.  Could  he 
possibly  have  been  less  than  that?  they  exclaimed.  An 
excellent  husband,  who  might  easily  have  been  less  than 
that,  he  was  the  most  devoted  of  cousins,  and  the  liberal 
expenditure  of  his  native  eloquence  for  the  furtherance  of 
Philip's  love-suit  was  the  principal  cause  of  the  misfortune, 
if  misfortune  it  could  subsequently  be  called  to  lose  an 
Adiante. 

The  Adister  family  were  not  gifted  to  read  into  the  heart 
of  a  young  man  of  a  fanciful  turn.     Patrick  had  not  a 


8  CELT    AND    SAXON 

thought  of  shame  devolving  on  him  from  a  kinsman  that 
had  shot  at  a  mark  and  hit  it.  Who  sees  the  shame  of 
taking  an  apple  from  a  garden  of  the  Hesperides?  And 
as  England  cultivates  those  golden,  if  sometimes  wrinkled, 
fruits,  it  would  have  seemed  to  him,  in  thinking  about  it, 
an  entirely  lucky  thing  for  the  finder;  while  a  question  of 
blood  would  have  fired  his  veins  to  rival  heat  of  self- 
assertion,  very  loftily  towering:  there  were  Kings  in  Ire- 
land: cry  for  one  of  them  in  Uladh  and  you  will  hear  his 
name,  and  he  has  descendants  yet  I  But  the  youth  was 
not  disposed  unnecessarily  to  blazon  his  princeliness.  He 
kept  it  in  modest  reserve,  as  common  gentlemen  keep  their 
physical  strength.  His  reluctance  to  look  on  Earlsfont 
sprang  from  the  same  source  as  unacknowledged  craving  to 
see  the  place,  which  had  precipitated  him  thus  far  upon 
his  road:  he  had  a  horror  of  scenes  where  a  faithless  girl 
had  betrayed  her  lover.  Love  was  his  visionar}-  temple, 
and  his  idea  of  love  was  the  solitary  light  in  it,  painfully 
susceptible  to  cold-air  currents  from  the  stories  of  love 
abroad  over  the  world.  Faithlessness  he  conceived  to  be 
obnoxious  to  nature;  it  stained  the  earth  and  was  excom- 
municated; there  could  be  no  pardon  of  the  crime,  barely 
any  for  repentance.  He  conceived  it  in  the  feminine;  for 
men  are  not  those  holy  creatures  whose  conduct  strikes  on 
the  soul  with  direct  edge:  a  faithless  man  is  but  a  general 
Nillain  or  funny  monster,  a  subject  rejected  of  poets,  taking 
no  hue  in  the  flat  chronicle  of  history:  but  a  faithless 
"woman,  how  shall  we  speak  of  her!     Women,  sacredly 


EXCURSION    IN    A    CELTIC    MIND  9 

endowed  with  beauty  and  the  wonderful  vibrating  note 
about  the  very  mention  of  them,  are  criminal  to  hideousness 
when  they  betray.  Cry,  False  1  on  them,  and  there  is  an 
instant  echo  of  bleeding  males  in  many  circles,  like  the 
poor  quavering  flute-howl  of  transformed  beasts,  which 
at  some  remembering  touch  bewail  their  higher  state. 
Those  women  are  sovereignly  attractive,  too,  loathsomely. 
Therein  you  may  detect  the  fiend. 

Our  moralist  had  for  some  time  been  glancing  at  a 
broad,  handsome  old  country  mansion  on  the  top  of  a 
wooded  hill  backed  by  a  swarm  of  mountain  heads  all 
purple-dark  under  clouds  flying  thick  to  shallow,  as  from 
a  brush  of  sepia.  The  dim  silver  of  half-lighted  lake-watt  r 
shot  along  below  the  terrace.  He  knew  the  kind  of  sky. 
ha\ang  oftener  seen  that  than  any  other,  and  he  knew  the 
house  before  it  was  named  to  him  and  he  had  flung  a 
discolouring  thought  across  it.  He  contemplated  it  pla- 
cably and  studiously,  perhaps  because  the  shower-folding 
armies  of  the  fields  above  likened  its  shadowed  stillness  to 
that  of  his  Irish  home.  There  had  this  woman  lived  I  At 
the  name  of  Earlsfont  she  became  this  witch,  snake,  decep- 
tion. Earlsfont  was  the  title  and  summary  of  her  black 
story:  the  reverberation  of  the  word  shook  up  all  tlie 
chapters  to  pour  out  their  poison. 


CHAPTER  II 


MR.    ADISTER 


Mr.  Patrick  O'Doxnell  drove  up  to  the  gates  of 
Earlsfont  notwitlistanding  these  emotions,  upon  which  Hght 
matter  it  is  the  habit  of  men  of  his  blood  too  much  to  brood; 
though  it  is  for  our  better  future  to  have  a  capacity  for 
them,  and  the  insensible  race  is  the  oxcnish. 

But  if  he  did  so  when  alone,  the  second  man  residing  in 
the  Celt  put  that  fellow  by  and  at  once  assumed  the  social 
character  on  his  being  requested  to  follow  his  card  into 
Mr.  Adister's  library.  He  took  his  impression  of  the  hall 
that  had  heard  her  voice,  the  stairs  she  had  descended,  the 
door  she  had  passed  through,  and  the  globes  she  had  per- 
chance laid  hand  on,  and  the  old  mappemonde,  and  the 
severely-shining  orderly  regiment  of  books  breathing  of 
her  whether  she  had  opened  them  or  not,  as  he  bowed  to 
his  host,  and  in  reply  to,  "So,  sir!  I  am  glad  to  see  you," 
said  swimmingly  that  Earlsfont  was  the  first  house  he  had 
visited  in  this  country:  and  the  scenery  reminded  him 
of  his  part  of  Ireland:  and  on  landing  at  Holyhead  he 
had  gone  off  straight  to  the  metropolis  by  appointmeni 
to  meet  his  brother  Phihp,  just  returned  from  Canada  a 
full  captain,  who  heartily  despatched  his  compliments  and 

10 


MR.    ADISTER  11 

respects,  and  hoped  to  hear  of  perfect  health  in  this  quarter 
of  the  world.  And  Captain  Con  the  same,  and  he  was 
very  flourishing. 

Patrick's  opening  speech  concluded  on  the  sound  of  a 
short  laugh  coming  from  Mr.  Adister. 

It  struck  the  young  Irishman's  ear  as  injurious  and 
scornful  in  relation  to  Captain  Con;  but  the  remark 
ensuing  calmed  him: 

"He  has  no  children." 

"No,  sir;  Captain  Con  wasn't  born  to  increase  the  num- 
ber of  our  clan,"  Patrick  rejoined;  and  thought:  By 
heaven !  I  get  a  likeness  of  her  out  of  you,  with  a  dash  of 
the  mother  mayhap  somewhere.  This  was  his  Puck- 
manner  of  pulling  a  girdle  round  about  from  what  was  fore- 
most in  his  head  to  the  secret  of  his  host's  quiet  observation; 
for,  guessing  that  such  features  as  he  beheld  would  be 
slumped  on  a  handsome  family,  he  was  led  by  the  splendid 
severity  of  their  lines  to  perceive  an  illimitable  pride  in  the 
man  likely  to  punish  him  in  his  offspring,  who  would  in- 
herit that  as  well;  so,  as  is  the  way  with  the  livelier  races, 
whether  they  seize  first  or  second  the  matter  or  the  spirit 
of  what  they  hear,  the  vivid  indulgence  of  his  own  ideas 
helped  him  to  catch  the  right  meaning  by  the  tail,  and  he 
was  enlightened  upon  a  domestic  unhappiness,  although 
Mr.  Adister  had  not  spoken  miserably.  The  "dash  of 
the  mother"  was  thrown  in  to  make  Adiante  softer,  and 
leave  a  loophole  for  her  relenting. 

The  master  of  Earlsfont  stood  for  a  promise  of  beauty 


12  CELT   AND    SAXON 

in  his  issue,  requiring  to  be  softened  at  the  mouth  and  along 
the  brows,  even  in  men.  He  was  tall,  and  had  clear  Greek 
outlines :  the  lips  were  locked  metal,  thin  as  edges  of  steel, 
and  his  eyes,  when  he  directed  them  on  the  person  he 
addressed  or  the  person  speaking,  were  as  little  varied  by 
motion  of  the  lids  as  eyeballs  of  a  stone  bust.  If  they 
expressed  more,  because  they  were  not  sculptured  eyes,  it 
was  the  expression  of  his  high  and  frigid  nature  rather 
than  any  of  the  diversities  pertaining  to  sentiment  and 
shades  of  meaning. 

Patrick  watched  him  for  signs  of  that  unknown  Adiante. 

"You  have  had  the  bequest  of  an  estate,"  Mr.  Adister 
said,  to  compliment  him  by  touching  on  his  affairs. 

"A  small  one;  not  a  quarter  of  a  county,"  said  Patrick. 

"Productive,  sir?" 

'"Tis  a  tramp  of  discovery,  sir,  to  where  bog  ends  and 
cultivation  begins." 

"Bequeathed  to  you  exclusively  over  the  head  of  your 
elder  brother,  I  understand." 

Patrick  nodded  assent.  "But  my  purse  is  Philip's,  and 
my  house,  and  my  horses." 

"  Not  bequeathed  by  a  member  of  your  family  ?  " 

"  By  a  distant  cousin,  chancing  to  have  been  one  of  my 
godmothers." 

"Women  do  these  things,"  Mr.  Adister  said,  not  in 
perfect  approbation  of  their  doings. 

"And  I  think,  too,  it  might  have  gone  to  the  elder," 
Patrick  replied  to  his  tone. 


MR.    ADISTER  13 

"It  is  not  your  intention  to  be  an  idle  gentleman?" 

"No,  nor  a  vagrant  Irishman,  sir." 

"You  propose  to  sit  down  over  there?" 

"When  I've  more  brains  to  be  of  service  to  them  and  the 
land,  I  do." 

Mr.  Adister  pulled  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "The  pro- 
fessions are  crammed.  An  Irish  gentleman  owning  land 
might  do  worse.  I  am  in  favour  of  some  degree  of  military 
training  for  all  gentlemen.     You  hunt?" 

Patrick's  look  was,  "Give  me  a  chance";  and  Mr. 
Adister  continued:  "Good  runs  are  to  be  had  here;  you 
shall  try  them.  You  are  something  of  a  shot,  I  suppose. 
We  hear  of  gentlemen  now  who  neither  hunt  nor  shoot. 
You  fence?" 

"That's  to  say,  I've  had  lessons  in  the  art." 

"I  am  not  aware  that  there  is  now  an  art  of  fencing 
taught  in  Ireland." 

"Nor  am  I,"  said  Patrick;  "though  there's  no  knowing 
what  goes  on  in  the  cabins." 

Mr.  Adister  appeared  to  acquiesce.  Observations  of 
sly  import  went  by  him  like  the  whispering  wind. 

"Your  priests  should  know,"  he  said. 

To  this  Patrick  thought  it  well  not  to  reply.  After  a 
pause  between  them,  he  referred  to  the  fencing. 

"I  was  taught  by  a  Parisian  master  of  the  art,  sir." 

"You  have  been  to  Paris?" 

"I  was  educated  in  Paris." 

"How?    Ah  I"     Mr.  Adister  corrected  himself  in  the 


14  CELT   AND    SAXON 

higher  notes  of  recollection.  "  I  think  I  have  heard  some- 
thing of  a  Jesuit  seminary." 

"The  Fathers  did  me  the  service  to  knock  all  I  know 
into  me,  and  call  it  education,  by  courtesy,"  said  Patrick, 
basking  in  the  unobscured  frown  of  his  host. 

"Then  you  are  accustomed  to  speak  French?"  The 
interrogation  was  put  to  extract  some  balm  from  the  cir- 
cumstance. 

Patrick  tried  his  art  of  fence  with  the  absurdity  by 
saying:     "All  but  like  a  native." 

"These  Jesuits  taught  you  the  use  of  the  foils?" 

"They  allowed  me  the  privilege  of  learning,  sir." 

After  meditation,  Mr.  Adistersaid:  "You  don't  dance?" 
He  said  it  speculating  on  the  kind  of  gentleman  produced 
in  Paris  by  the  disciples  of  Loyola. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  you  hit  on  another  of  my  accomplish- 
ments." 

"These  Jesuits  encourage  dancing?" 

"The  square  dance  —  short  of  the  embracing:  the  valse 
is  under  interdict." 

Mr.  Adister  peered  into  his  brows  profoundly  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  devilry  in  that  exclusion  of  the  valse. 

What  object  had  those  people  in  encouraging  the  young 
fellow  to  be  a  perfect  fencer  and  dancer,  so  that  he  should 
be  of  the  school  of  the  polite  world,  and  yet  subservient 
to  them  ? 

"Thanks  to  the  Jesuits,  then,  you  are  almost  a  Parisian," 
he  remarked;   provoking  the  retort: 


MR.    ADISTER  15 

"Thanks  to  them,  I've  stored  a  little,  and  Paris  is  to 
me  as  pure  a  place  as  four  whitewashed  walls:"  Patrick 
added:  "without  a  shadow  of  a  monk  on  them."  Perhaps 
it  was  thrown  in  for  the  comfort  of  mundane  ears  afflicted 
sorely,  and  no  point  of  principle  pertained  to  the  slur  on  a 
monk. 

Mr.  Adister  could  have  exclaimed,  That  shadow  of  the 
monk!  had  he  been  in  an  exclamatory  mood.  He  said: 
"They  have  not  made  a  monk  of  you,  then." 

Patrick  was  minded  to  explain  how  that  the  Jesuits  are 
a  religious  order  exercising  worldly  weapons.  The  lack 
of  precise  words  admonished  him  of  the  virtue  of  silence, 
and  he  retreated  with  a  quiet  negative:     "They  have  not." 

"Then,  you  are  no  Jesuit?"  he  was  asked. 

Thinking  it  scarcely  required  a  response,  he  shrugged. 

"You  would  not  change  your  religion,  sir?"  said  Mr. 
Adister  in  seeming  anger. 

Patrick  thought  he  would  have  to  rise:  he  half  fancied 
himself  summoned  to  change  his  religion  or  depart  from 
the  house. 

"Not  I,"  said  he. 

"Not  for  the  title  of  Prince?"  he  was  further  pressed, 
and  he  replied: 

"I  don't  happen  to  have  an  ambition  for  the  title  of 
Prince." 

"Or  any  title!"  interjected  Mr.  Adister,  "or  whatever 
the  devil  can  offer!  —  or,"  he  spoke  more  pointedly,  "for 
what  fools  call  a  brilliant  marriage?" 


16  CELT   AND    SAXON 

"My  religion?"  Patrick  now  treated  the  question  seri- 
ously and  raised  his  head:  "I'd  not  suffer  myself  to  be 
asked  twice." 

The  sceptical  northern-blue  eyes  of  his  host  dwelt  on 
him  with  their  full  repellent  stare. 

The  young  Catholic  gentleman  expected  he  might  hear 
a  frenetic  zealot  roar  out:     Be  off! 

He  was  not  immediately  reassured  by  the  words :  "  Dead 
or  alive,  then,  you  have  a  father!" 

The  spectacle  of  a  state  of  excitement  without  a  show 
of  feeling  was  novel  to  Patrick.  He  began  to  see  that  he 
was  not  implicated  in  a  wrath  that  referred  to  some  great 
offender,  and  Mr.  Adister  soon  confirmed  his  view  by 
saying:     "You  are  no  disgrace  to  your  begetting,  sir!" 

With  that  he  quitted  his  chair,  and  hospitably  proposed 
to  conduct  his  guest  over  the  house  and  grounds. 


CHAPTER  III 


CAROUNE 


Men  of  the  Adister  family  having  taken  to  themselves 
brides  of  a  very  dusty  pedigree  from  the  Principality,  there 
were  curious  rough  heirlooms  to  be  seen  about  the  house, 
shields  on  the  armoury  walls  and  hunting-horns,  and  drink- 
ing-horns, and  spears,  and  chain-belts  bearing  clasps  of 
heads  of  beasts;  old  gold  ornaments,  torques,  blue-stone 
necklaces,  under  glass-cases,  were  in  the  library;  huge 
rings  that  must  have  given  the  wearers  fearful  fists ;  a  shirt 
of  coarse  linen  with  a  pale  brown  spot  on  the  breast,  like 
a  fallen  beech-leaf;  and  many  sealed  parchment-skins,  very 
precious,  for  an  inspection  of  which,  as  Patrick  was  bidden 
to  understand,  History  humbly  knocked  at  the  Earlsfont 
hall-doors;  and  the  proud  muse  made  her  transcripts  of 
them  kneeling.  He  would  have  been  affected  by  these 
wonders  had  any  relic  of  Adiante  appeased  his  thirst.  Or 
had  there  been  one  mention  of  her,  it  would  have  disen- 
gaged him  from  the  incessant  speculations  regarding  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  of  whom  not  a  word  was  uttered. 
No  portrait  of  her  was  shown.  Why  was  she  absent  from 
her  home  so  long  ?  where  was  she  ?     How  could  her  name 

be  started?     And  was  it  slie  who  was  the  sinner  in  her 

17 


18  CELT  AND   SAXON 

father's  mind?  But  the  idolatrous  love  between  Adiante 
and  her  father  was  once  a  legend:  they  could  not  have 
been  cut  asunder.  She  had  offered  up  her  love  of  Philip 
as  a  sacrifice  to  it:  Patrick  recollected  that,  and  now  with 
a  softer  gloom  on  his  brooding  he  released  her  from  the 
burden  of  his  grand  charge  of  unfaithfulness  to  the  truest 
of  lovers,  by  acknowledging  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of 
the  sole  rival  of  his  brother.  Glorious  girl  that  she  was, 
her  betrayal  of  Philip  had  nothing  of  a  woman's  base 
caprice  to  make  it  infamous:  she  had  sacrificed  him  to  her 
reading  of  duty;  and  that  was  duty  to  her  father;  and  the 
point  of  duty  was  in  this  instance  rather  a  sacred  one.  He 
heard  voices  murmur  that  she  might  be  praised.  He 
remonstrated  with  them,  assuring  them,  as  one  who  knew, 
that  a  woman's  first  duty  is  her  duty  to  her  lover;  her 
parents  are  her  second  thought.  Her  lover,  in  the  consider- 
ation of  a  real  soul  among  the  shifty  creatures,  is  her  hus- 
band; and  have  we  not  the  word  of  heaven  directing  her 
to  submit  herself  to  him  who  is  her  husband  before  all 
others?  That  peerless  Adiante  had  grievously  erred  in 
the  upper  sphere  where  she  received  her  condemnation, 
but  such  a  sphere  is  ladder  and  ladder  and  silver  ladder 
high  above  your  hair-splitting  pates,  you  children  of  earth, 
and  it  is  not  for  you  to  act  on  the  verdict  in  decr\-ing  her: 
rather  'tis  for  you  to  raise  h}'mns  of  worship  to  a  saint! 

Thus  did  the  ingenious  Patrick  change  his  ground  and 
gain  his  argument  with  the  celerity  of  one  who  wins  a  game 
by  playing  it  without  an  adversary.     Mr.   Adister  had 


CAROLINE  19 

sprung  a  new  sense  in  him  on  the  subject  of  the  renuncia- 
tion of  the  religion.  No  thought  of  a  possible  apostasy 
had  ever  occurred  to  the  youth,  and  as  he  was  aware  that 
the  difference  of  their  faith  had  been  the  main  cause  of  the 
division  of  Adiante  and  Philip,  he  could  at  least  consent  to 
think  well  of  her  down  here,  that  is,  on  our  flat  surface  of 
earth.  Up  there,  among  the  immortals,  he  was  compelled 
to  shake  his  head  at  her  still,  and  more  than  sadly  in  certain 
moods  of  exaltation,  reprovingly;  though  she  interested 
him  beyond  all  her  sisterhood  above,  it  had  to  be  confessed. 
They  traversed  a  banqueting-hall  hung  with  portraits, 
to  two  or  three  of  which  the  master  of  Earlsfont  carelessly 
pointed,  for  his  guest  to  be  interested  in  them  or  not  as  he 
might  please.  A  reception  hall  flung  folding-doors  on  a 
grand  drawing-room,  where  the  fires  in  the  grates  went 
through  the  ceremony  of  warming  nobody,  and  made  a 
show  of  keeping  the  house  alive.  A  modern  steel  cuirass, 
helmet  and  plume  at  a  corner  of  the  armoury  reminded 
Mr.  Adister  to  say  that  he  had  worn  the  uniform  in  his 
day.  He  cast  an  odd  look  at  the  old  shell  containing  him 
when  he  was  a  brilliant  youth.  Patrick  was  marched  on 
to  Colonel  Arthur's  rooms,  and  to  Captain  David's,  the 
sailor.  Their  father  talked  of  his  two  sons.  They  ap- 
peared to  satisfy  him.  If  that  was  the  case,  they  could 
hardly  have  thrown  off  their  religion.  Already  Patrick  had 
a  dread  of  naming  the  daughter.  An  idea  struck  him  that 
she  might  be  the  person  who  had  been  guilty  of  it  over  there 
on  the  Continent.     What  if  she  had  done  it,  upon  a  review 


20  CELT  AND  SAXON 

of  her  treatment  of  her  lover,  and  gone  into  a  convent  to 
wait  for  Philip  to  come  and  claim  her?  —  saying,  "Philip, 
I've  put  the  knife  to  my  father's  love  of  me;  love  me 
double";  and  so  she  just  half  swoons,  enough  to  show  how 
the  dear  angel  looks  in  her  sleep:  a  trick  of  kindness  these 
heavenly  women  have,  that  we  heathen  may  get  a  peep  of 
their  secret  rose-enfolded  selves;  and  dream's  no  word, 
nor  drunken,  for  the  blessed  mischief  it  works  with  us. 

Supposing  it  so,  it  accounted  for  everything:  for  her 
absence,  and  her  father's  abstention  from  a  mention  of  her, 
and  the  pretty  good  sort  of  welcome  Patrick  had  received; 
for  as  yet  it  was  unknown  that  she  did  it  all  for  an 
O'Donnell. 

These  being  his  reflections,  he  at  once  accepted  a  view 
of  her  that  so  agreeably  quieted  his  perplexity,  and  he  leapt 
out  of  his  tangle  into  the  happy  open  spaces  where  the 
romantic  things  of  life  are  as  natural  as  the  sun  that  rises 
and  sets.  There  you  imagine  what  you  will;  you  live 
what  you  imagine.  An  Adiante  meets  her  lover:  another 
Adiante,  the  phantom  likeness  of  her,  similar  to  the  finger- 
tips, hovers  to  a  meeting  with  some  one  whose  heart  shakes 
your  manful  frame  at  but  a  thought  of  it.  But  this  other 
Adiante  is  altogether  a  secondary  conception,  barely 
descried,  and  chased  by  you  that  she  may  interpret  the 
mystical  nature  of  the  happiness  of  those  two,  close-linked 
to  eternity,  in  advance.  You  would  learn  it,  if  she  would 
expound  it;  you  are  ready  to  learn  it,  for  the  sake  of 
knowledge;  and  if  you  link  yourself  to  her  and  do  as  those 


CAROLINE  21 

two  are  doing,  it  is  chiefly  in  a  spirit  of  imitation,  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  darting  couple  ahead.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  he  conversed,  and  seemed,  to  a  gentleman 
unaware  of  the  vaporous  activities  of  his  brain,  a  young 
fellow  of  a  certain  practical  sense. 

"We  have  not  much  to  teach  you  in  horseflesh,"  Mr. 
Adister  said,  quitting  the  stables  to  proceed  to  the  gardens. 

"We  must  look  alive  to  keep  up  our  breed,  sir,"  said 
Patrick.  "We're  breeding  too  fine:  and  soon  we  shan't 
be  able  to  horse  our  troopers.  I  call  that  the  land  for 
horses  where  the  cavalry's  well-mounted  on  a  native 
breed." 

"You  have  your  brother's  notion  of  cavalry,  have  you!" 

"  I  leave  it  to  Philip  to  boast  what  cavalry  can  do  on  the 
field.  He  knows:  but  he  knows  that  troopers  must  be 
mounted:  and  we're  fining  more  and  more  from  bone: — 
with  the  sales  to  foreigners!  and  the  only  chance  of  their 
not  beating  us  is  that  they'll  be  so  good  as  follow  our  bad 
example.  Prussia's  well  horsed,  and  for  the  work  it's 
intended  to  do,  the  Austrian  light  cavalry's  a  model.  So 
I'm  told.  I'll  see  for  myself.  Then  we  sit  our  horses  too 
heavy.  The  Saxon  trooper  runs  headlong  to  flesh.  'Tis 
the  beer  that  fattens  and  swells  him.  Properly  to  speak, 
we've  no  light  cavalry.  The  French  are  studying  it,  and 
when  they  take  to  studying,  they  come  to  the  fore.  I'll 
pay  a  visit  to  their  breeding  establishments.  We've  no 
studying  here,  and  not  a  scrap  of  system  that  I  see.  All 
the  country  seems  armed  for  bullying  the  facts,  till  the 


22  CELT  >ND   SAXON 

periodical  panic  arrives,  and  then  it's  for  lying  flat  and 
roaring — and  we'll  drop  the  curtain,  if  you  please." 

"You  say  we"  returned  Mr.  Adister.  "I  hear  xjou 
launched  at  us  English  by  the  captain,  your  cousin,  who 
has  apparently  yet  to  learn  that  we  are  one  people." 

"We're  held  together  and  a  trifle  intermixed;  I  fancy  it's 
we  with  him  and  with  me  when  we're  talking  of  army  or 
navy,"  said  Patrick.  "But  Captain  Con's  a  bit  of  a 
politician:  a  poor  business,  when  there's  nothing  to  be 
done." 

"A  very  poor  business!"  Mr.  Adister  rejoined. 

"If  you'd  have  the  goodness  to  kindle  his  enthusiasm, 
he'd  be  for  the  first  person  plural,  with  his  cap  in  the  air," 
said  Patrick. 

"I  detest  enthusiasm." 

"You're  not  obliged  to  adore  it  to  give  it  a  wakener." 

"Pray,  what  does  that  mean?" 

Patrick  cast  about  to  reply  to  the  formal  challenge  for  an 
explanation. 

He  began  on  it  as  it  surged  up  to  him:  "Well,  sir,  the 
country  that's  got  hold  of  us,  if  we're  not  to  get  loose.  We 
don't  count  many  millions  in  Europe,  and  there's  no  shame 
in  submitting  to  ^orce  majeure,  if  a  stand  was  once  made; 
and  we're  mixed  up,  'tis  true,  well  or  ill;  and  we're  stronger, 
both  of  us,  united  than  tearing  to  strips:  and  so,  there,  for 
the  past!  so  long  as  we  can  set  our  eyes  upon  something 
to  admire,  instead  of  a  bundle  squatting  fat  on  a  pile  of 
possessions  and  vowing  she  won't  budge;  and  taking  kicks 


CAROLINE  23 

from  a  big  foot  across  the  Atlantic,  and  shaking  bayonets 
out  of  her  mob-cap  for  a  little  one's  cock  of  the  eye  at  her: 
and  she's  all  for  the  fleshpots,  and  calls  the  rest  of  mankind 
fools  because  they're  not  the  same:  and  so  long  as  she  can 
trim  her  ribands  and  have  her  hot  toast  and  tea,  with  a 
suspicion  of  a  dram  in  it,  she  doesn't  mind  how  heavy  she 
sits:  nor  that's  not  the  point,  nor's  the  land  question,  nor 
the.  potato  crop,  if  only  she  wore  the  right  sort  of  face  to 
look  at,  with  a  bit  of  brightness  about  it,  to  show  an  idea 
inside  striking  a  light  from  the  day  that's  not  yet  nodding 
at  us,  as  the  tops  of  big  mountains  do :  or  if  she  were  only 
braced  and  gallant,  and  cried.  Ready,  though  I  haven't 
much  outlook !  We'd  be  satisfied  with  her  for  a  handsome 
figure.  I  don't  know  whether  we  wouldn't  be  satisfied  with 
her  for  politeness  in  her  manners.  We'd  Uke  her  better 
for  a  spice  of  devotion  to  a  light  higher  up  in  politics  and 
religion.  But  the  key  of  the  difficulty's  a  sparkle  of  en- 
thusiasm. It's  part  business,  and  the  greater  part  senti- 
ment. We  want  a  rousing  in  the  heart  of  us;  or  else  we'd 
be  pleased  with  her  for  sitting  so  as  not  to  overlap  us  en- 
tirely: we'd  feel  more  at  home,  and  behold  her  more 
respectfully.  We'd  see  the  policy  of  an  honourable  union, 
and  be  joined  to  you  by  more  than  a  telegraphic  cable. 
That's  Captain  Con,  I  think,  and  many  like  him." 

Patrick  finished  his  airy  sketch  of  the  Irish  case  in  a  key 
signifying  that  he  might  be  one  among  the  many,  but 
unobtrusive. 

"Stick  to  horses!"  observed  Mr.  Adister. 


24  CELT  AND   SAXON 

It  was  pronounced  as  the  termination  to  sheer  maun- 
dering. 

Patrick  talked  on  the  uppermost  topic  for  the  remainder 
of  their  stroll. 

He  noticed  that  his  host  occasionally  allowed  himself  to 
say,  "You  Irish":  and  he  reflected  that  the  saying,  "You 
English,"  had  been  hinted  as  an  offence. 

He  forgot  to  think  that  he  had  possibly  provoked  this 
alienation  in  a  scornfully  proud  spirit.  The  language  of 
metaphor  was  to  Mr.  Adister  fool's  froth.  He  conceded 
the  use  of  it  to  the  Irish  and  the  Welsh  as  a  right  that 
stamped  them  for  what  they  were  by  adopting  it;  and  they 
might  look  on  a  country  as  a  "she,"  if  it  amused  them:  so 
long  as  they  were  not  recalcitrant,  they  were  to  be  tolerated, 
they  were  a  part  of  us;  doubtless  the  nether  part,  yet  not 
the  less  a  part  for  which  we  are  bound  to  exercise  a  specially 
considerate  care,  or  else  we  suffer,  for  we  are  sensitive  there : 
this  is  justice:  but  the  indications  by  fiddle-faddle  verbiage 
of  anything  objectionable  to  the  whole  in  the  part  aroused 
an  irritability  that  speedily  endued  him  with  the  sense  of 
sanity  opposing  lunacy;  when,  not  having  a  wide  command 
of  the  undecorated  plain  speech  which  enjoyed  his  ap- 
proval, he  withdrew  into  the  entrenchments  of  contempt. 

Patrick  heard  enough  to  let  him  understand  why  the 
lord  of  Earlsfont  and  Captain  Con  were  not  on  the  best 
of  terms.  Once  or  twice  he  had  a  twinge  or  suspicion  of  a 
sting  from  the  tone  of  his  host,  though  he  was  not  political 
and  was  of  a  mood  to  pity  the  poor  gentleman's  melancholy 


CAROLINE  25 

state  of  solitariness,  with  all  his  children  absent,  his  wife 
dead,  only  a  niece,  a  young  lady  of  twenty,  to  lend  an  air 
of  grace  and  warmth  to  his  home. 

She  was  a  Caroline,  and  as  he  had  never  taken  a  liking 
to  a  Caroline,  he  classed  her  in  the  tribe  of  Carolines.  To 
a  Kathleen,  an  Eveleen,  a  Nora,  or  a  Bessy,  or  an  Alicia, 
he  would  have  bowed  more  cordially  on  his  introduction 
to  her,  for  these  were  names  with  portraits  and  vistas 
beyond,  that  shook  leaves  of  recollection  of  the  happiest  of 
life  —  the  sweet  things  dreamed  undesiringly  in  opening 
youth.  A  Caroline  awakened  no  soft  association  of  fancies, 
no  mysterious  heaven  and  earth.  The  ( thers  had  variously 
tinted  skies  above  them;  their  features  wooed  the  dream, 
led  it  on  as  the  wooded  glen  leads  the  eye  till  we  are  deep 
in  richness.  Nor  would  he  have  throbbed  had  one  of  any 
of  his  favourite  names  appeared  in  the  place  of  Caroline 
Adister.  They  had  not  moved  his  heart,  they  had  only 
stirred  the  sources  of  wonder.  An  Eveleen  had  carried  him 
farthest  to  imagine  the  splendours  of  an  Adiante,  and  the 
announcement  of  the  coming  of  an  Eveleen  would  per- 
chance have  sped  a  little  wild  fire,  to  which  what  the  world 
calls  curiosity  is  frozenly  akin,  through  liis  veins. 

Mr.  Adister  had  spoken  of  his  niece  Caroline.  A  lacquey, 
receiving  orders  from  his  master,  mentioned  Miss  Adister. 
There  was  but  one  Miss  Adister  for  Patrick.  Against 
reason,  he  was  raised  to  anticipate  tlie  possible  beholding 
of  her,  and  Caroline's  entrance  into  the  drawing-room 
brought  him  to  the  ground.     Disappointment  is  a  poor 


26  CELT  AND  SAXON 

term  for  the  descent  from  an  immoderate  height,  but  the 
acknowledgment  that  we  have  shot  up  irrationally  recon- 
ciles even  unphilosophical  youth  to  the  necessity  of  the  fall, 
though  we  must  continue  sensible  of  a  shock.  She  was  the 
Miss  Adister;  and  how,  and  why?  No  one  else  accom- 
panied them  on  their  march  to  the  dinner-table.  Patrick 
pursued  his  double  task  of  hunting  his  thousand  specula- 
tions and  conversing  fluently,  so  that  it  is  not  astonishing 
if,  when  he  retired  to  his  room,  the  impression  made  on 
him  by  this  young  Caroline  was  inefficient  to  distinguish 
her  from  the  horde  of  her  baptismal  sisters.  And  she  had 
a  pleasant  face:  he  was  able  to  see  that,  and  some  individ- 
uality in  the  look  of  it,  the  next  morning;  and  then  he 
remembered  the  niceness  of  her  manners.  He  supposed 
her  to  have  been  educated  where  the  interfusion  of  a 
natural  liveliness  with  a  veiling  retenue  gives  the  title  of 
lady.  She  had  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  having  an  esti- 
mable French  lady  for  her  governess,  she  informed  him,  as 
they  sauntered  together  on  the  terrace. 

"A  Protestant,  of  course,"  Patrick  .spoke  as  he  thought. 

"Madame  Dugu6  is  a  Catholic  of  Catholics,  and  the 
most  honourable  of  women." 

"That  I'll  believe;  and  wasn't  for  proselytisms,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  no:   she  was  faithful  to  her  trust." 

"Save  for  the  grand  example!" 

"That,"  said  Caroline,  "one  could  strive  to  imitate 
without  embracing  her  faith." 

"There's  my  mind  clear  as  print!"  Patrick  exclaimed. 


CAROLINE  27 

"The  Faith  of  my  fathers!  and  any  pattern  you  like  for  my 
conduct,  if  it's  a  good  one." 

Caroline  hesitated  before  she  said:  "You  have  noticed 
my  uncle  Adister's  prepossession;  I  mean,  his  extreme 
sensitiveness  on  that  subject." 

"He  blazed  on  me,  and  he  seemed  to  end  by  a  sort  of 
approval." 

She  sighed.     "  He  has  had  cause  for  great  unhappiness." 

"  Is  it  the  colonel,  or  the  captain  ?  Forgive  me  1"  Her 
head  shook. 

"  Is  it  she  ?    Is  it  his  daughter  ?    I  must  ask  1 " 

"You  have  not  heard?" 

"Oh!  then,  I  guessed  it,"  cried  Patrick,  with  a  flash  of 
pride  in  his  arrowy  sagacity.  "Not  a  word  have  I  heard, 
but  I  thought  it  out  for  myself;  because  I  love  my  brother, 
I  fancy.  And  now,  if  you'll  be  so  good,  Miss  Caroline, 
let  me  beg,  it's  just  the  address,  or  the  city,  or  the  country 
—  where  she  is,  can  you  tell  me  ?  —  just  whereabouts ! 
You're  surprised :  but  I  want  her  address,  to  be  off,  to  see 
her;  I'm  anxious  to  speak  to  her.  It's  anj'where  she  may 
be  in  a  ring,  only  show  me  the  ring,  I'll  find  her,  for  I've 
a  load;  and  there's  nothing  like  that  for  sending  you 
straight,  though  it's  in  the  dark;  it  acts  like  an  instinct. 
But  you  know  the  clear  address,  and  won't  let  me  be  run- 
ning blindfold.  She's  on  the  Continent  and  has  been  a 
long  time,  and  it  was  the  capital  of  Austria,  which  is  a 
Catholic  country,  and  they've  Irish  blood  in  the  service 
there,  or  they  had.     I  could  drop  on  my  knees  to  you!" 


28  CELT  AND   SAXON 

The  declaration  was  fortunately  hushed  by  a  suppli- 
cating ardour,  or  Mr.  Adister  would  have  looked  more 
surprised  than  his  niece.  He  stepped  out  of  the  library 
window  as  they  were  passing,  and,  evidently  with  a 
mind  occupied  by  his  own  affairs,  held  up  an  opened 
letter  for  Caroline's  perusal.  She  took  a  view  of  the 
handwriting. 

"Any  others?"  she  said. 

"You  will  consider  that  one  enough  for  the  day,"  was 
his  answer. 

Patrick  descended  the  terrace  and  strolled  by  the  water- 
side, grieved  at  their  having  bad  news,  and  vexed  with  him- 
self for  being  a  stranger,  unable  to  console  them. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  all  three  riding  to  the  mar- 
ket-town, where  Mr.  Adister  paid  a  fruitless  call  on  his 
lawyer. 

"And  never  is  at  home!  never  was  known  to  be  at  home 
when  wanted!"  he  said,  springing  back  to  the  saddle. 

Caroline  murmured  some  soothing  words.  They  had  a 
perverse  effect. 

"His  partner!  yes,  his  partner  is  at  home,  but  I  do  not 
communicate  upon  personal  business  with  his  partner; 
and  by  and  by  there  will  be.  I  suppose,  a  third  partner.  I 
might  as  well  deposit  my  family  history  in  the  hands  of  a 
club.  His  partner  is  always  visible.  It  is  my  belief  that 
Camminy  has  taken  a  partner  that  he  may  act  the  inde- 
pendent gentleman  at  his  leisure.  I,  meantime,  must  con- 
tinue to  be  the  mark  for  these  letters.     I  shall  expect  soon 


CAROLINE  29 

to  hear  myself  abused  as  the  positive  cause  of  the  loss  of  a 
Crown!" 

"Mr.  Camminy  will  probably  appear  at  the  dinner 
hour,"  said  Caroline. 

"Claret  attracts  him;  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  of 
duty,"  rejoined  her  uncle. 

Patrick  managed  to  restrain  a  bubbling  remark  on  the 
respective  charms  of  claret  and  duty,  tempting  though  the 
occasion  was  for  him  to  throw  in  a  conversational  word  or 
two. 

He  was  rewarded  for  listening  devoutly. 

Mr.  Adister  burst  out  again:  "And  why  not  come  over 
here  to  settle  this  transaction  herself  ?  —  provided  that  I 
am  spared  the  presence  of  her  Schinderhannes  I  She  could 
very  well  come.  I  have  now  received  three  letters  bearing 
on  this  matter  within  as  many  months.  Down  to  the  sale 
of  her  hereditary  jewels !  I  profess  no  astonishment.  The 
jewels  may  well  go  too,  if  Crydney  and  Welvas  are  to  go. 
Disrooted  body  and  soul!  —  for  a  moonshine  title!  —  a 
gaming-table  foreign  knave!  —  Known  for  a  knave!  —  A 
young  gentlewoman  ?  —  a  wild  Welsh  ...   !" 

Caroline  put  her  horse  to  a  canter,  and  the  exclamations 
ended,  leaving  Patrick  to  shuffle  them  together  and  read  the 
riddle  they  presented,  and  toss  them  to  the  wind,  that  they 
might  be  blown  back  on  him  by  the  powers  of  air  in  an 
intelligible  form. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   PRINCESS 

Dinner,  and  a  little  piano-music  and  a  song  closed  an 
evening  that  was  not  dull  to  Patrick  in  spite  of  prolonged 
silences.  The  quiet  course  of  things  within  the  house  ap- 
peared to  him  to  have  a  listening  ear  for  big  events  outside. 
He  dreaded  a  single  step  in  the  wrong  direction,  and 
therefore  forbore  to  hang  on  any  of  his  conjectures;  for  he 
might  perchance  be  unjust  to  the  blessedcst  heroine  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth  —  a  truly  a\\'ful  thought!  Yet  her 
name  would  no  longer  bear  the  speaking  of  it  to  himself. 
It  conjured  up  a  smoky  moon  under  confounding  eclipse. 

Who  was  Schinderhannes  ? 

Mr.  Adister  had  said,  her  Schinderhannes. 

Patrick  merely  wished  to  be  informed  who  the  man  was, 
and  whether  he  had  a  title,  and  was  much  of  a  knave :  and 
particularly  Patrick  would  have  Uked  to  be  informed  of  the 
fellow's  rehgion.     But  asking  was  not  easy. 

It  was  not  possible.  And  there  was  a  barrel  of  powder 
to  lay  a  fiery  head  on,  for  a  pillow ! 

To  confess  that  he  had  not  the  courage  to  inquire  was 

as  good  as  an  acknowledgment  that  he  knew  too  much  for 

an  innocent  questioner.     And  what  did  he  know?    His 

30 


THE    PRINCESS  31 

brother  Philip's  fair  angel  forbade  him  to  open  the  door 
upon  what  he  knew.  He  took  a  peep  through  fancy'd 
keyhole,  and  delighted  himself  to  think  that  he  had  seen 
nothing. 

After  a  turbulent  night  with  Schinderhannes,  who  let  him 
go  no  earlier  than  the  opening  of  a  December  day,  Patrick 
hied  away  to  one  of  the  dusky  nooks  by  the  lake  for  a 
bracing  plunge.  He  attributed  to  his  desire  for  it  the 
strange  deadness  of  the  atmosphere,  and  his  incapacity  to 
get  an  idea  out  of  anything  he  looked  on:  he  had  not  a 
sensation  of  cold  till  the  stinging  element  gripped  him.  It 
is  the  finest  school  for  the  cure  of  dreamers;  two  minutes 
of  stout  watery  battle,  with  the  enemy  close  all  round, 
laughing,  but  not  the  less  inveterate,  convinced  him  that,  in 
winter  at  least,  we  have  only  to  jump  out  of  our  clothes  to 
feel  the  reality  of  things  in  a  trice.  The  dip  was  sharpen- 
ing; he  could  say  tliat  his  prescription  was  good  for  him; 
his  craving  to  get  an  idea  ceased  with  it  absolutely,  and  he 
stood  in  far  better  trim  to  meet  his  redoubtable  adversary  of 
overnight;  but  the  rascal  was  a  bandit  and  had  robbed  him 
of  his  purse;  that  was  a  positive  fact;  his  vision  had  gone; 
he  felt  himself  poor  and  empty  and  rejoicing  in  the  keen- 
ness of  his  hunger  for  breakfast,  singularly  lean.  A  youth 
despoiled  of  his  vision  and  made  sensible  by  the  activity  of 
his  physical  state  that  he  is  a  common  machine,  is  eager  for 
meat,  for  excess  of  whatsoever  you  may  offer  him;  he  is 
on  the  highroad  of  recklessness,  and  had  it  been  the  bottle 
instead  of  Caroline'"  coffee-cup,  Patrick  would  soon  have 


32  CELT  AND   SAXON 

received  a  priming  for  a  delivery  of  views  upon  the  sex,  and 
upon  love,  and  the  fools  known  as  lovers,  acrid  enough  to 
win  the  applause  of  cynics. 

Boasting  was  the  best  relief  that  a  young  man  not  with- 
out modesty  could  find.  Mr.  Adister  complimented  him 
on  the  robustness  of  his  habits,  and  Patrick  "would  like 
to  hear  of  the  temptation  that  could  keep  him  from  his 
morning  swim." 

Caroline's  needle-thrust  was  provoked: 

"Would  not  Arctic  weather  deter  you,  Mr.  O'Donnell?" 

He  hummed,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  the  sparkle. 

"Short  of  Arctic,"  he  had  to  say.  "But  a  gallop,  after 
an  Arctic  bath,  would  soon  spin  the  blood  —  upon  an 
Esquimaux  dog,  of  course,"  he  pursued,  to  anticipate  his 
critic's  remark  on  the  absence  of  horses,  with  a  bow. 

She  smiled,  accepting  the  mental  alertness  he  fastened 
on  her. 

We  must  perforce  be  critics  of  these  tear-away  wits; 
which  are,  moreover,  so  threadbare  to  conceal  the  char- 
acter! Caroline  led  him  to  vaunt  his  riding  and  his  shoot- 
ing, and  a  certain  time  passed  before  she  perceived  that 
though  he  responded  naturally  to  her  first  sly  attacks,  his 
gross  exaggerations  upon  them  had  not  been  the  triumph 
of  absurdity  she  supposed  herself  to  have  evoked. 

Her  wish  was  to  divert  her  uncle.  Patrick  discerned 
the  intention  and  aided  her. 

"As  for  entertainment,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  Mr. 
Adister's  courteous  regrets  that  he  would  have  to  be  a 


THE   PRINCESS  33 

prisoner  in  the  house  until  his  legal  adviser  thought  proper 
to  appear,  "I'll  be  perfectly  happy  if  Miss  Caroline  will 
give  me  as  much  of  her  company  as  she  can  spare.  It's 
amusing  to  be  shot  at  too,  by  a  lady  who's  a  good  marks- 
man !  And  birds  and  hares  are  always  willing  to  wait  for 
us;  they  keep  better  alive.     I  forgot  to  say  that  I  can  sing." 

"Then  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  connoisseur  last  night," 
said  Caroline. 

Mr.  Adister  consulted  his  watch  and  the  mantelpiece 
clock  for  a  minute  of  difference  between  them,  remarking 
that  he  was  a  prisoner  indeed,  and  for  the  whole  day,  unless 
Camminy  should  decide  to  come.  "There  is  the  library," 
he  said,  "if  you  care  for  books;  the  best  books  on  agricul- 
ture will  be  found  there.  You  can  make  your  choice  in 
the  stables,  if  you  would  like  to  explore  the  country.  I  am 
detained  here  by  a  man  who  seems  to  think  my  business 
of  less  importance  than  his  pleasures.  And  it  is  not  my 
busine.ss;  it  is  very  much  the  reverse:  but  I  am  compelled 
to  undertake  it  as  ray  own,  when  I  abhor  the  business.  It 
is  hard  for  me  to  speak  of  it,  much  more  to  act  a  part 
in  it." 

"Perhaps,"  Caroline  interposed  hurriedly,  "Mr.  O'Don- 
nell  would  not  be  unwilling  to  begin  the  day  with  some 
duets?" 

Patrick  eagerly  put  on  his  shame-face  to  accept  her  invi- 
tation, protesting  that  his  boldness  was  entirely  due  to  his 
delight  in  music. 

"  But  I've  heard,"  said  he,  "  that  the  best  fortification  for 


34  CELT  AND  SAXON 

the  exercise  of  the  voice  is  hearty  eating,  so  I'll  pay  court 
again  to  that  game-pie.     I'm  one  with  the  pigs  for  truffles." 

His  host  thanked  him  for  spreading  the  contagion  of  good 
appetite,  and  followed  his  example.  Robust  habits  and 
heartiness  were  signs  with  him  of  a  conscience  at  peace, 
and  he  thought  the  Jesuits  particularly  forbearing  in  the 
amount  of  harm  they  had  done  to  this  young  man.  So  they 
were  still  at  table  when  Mr.  Camminy  was  announced  and 
ushered  in. 

The  man  of  law  murmured  an  excuse  or  two;  he  knew 
his  client's  eye,  and  how  to  thaw  it. 

"No,  Miss  Adister,  I  have  not  breakfasted,"  he  said, 
taking  the  chair  placed  for  him.  "I  was  all  day  yesterday 
at  Windlemont,  engaged  in  assisting  to  settle  the  succession. 
Where  estates  are  not  entailed!" 

"The  expectations  of  the  family  are  undisciplined  and 
certain  not  to  be  satisfied,"  Mr.  Adister  carried  on  the 
broken  sentence.  "That  house  will  fall!  However,  you 
have  lost  no  time  this  morning.  —  Mr.  Patrick  O'Donnell." 

Mr.  Camminy  bowed  busily  somewhere  in  the  direction 
between  Patrick  and  the  sideboard. 

"Our  lawyers  have  us  inside  out,  like  our  physicians," 
Mr.  Adister  resumed,  talking  to  blunt  his  impatience  for  a 
private  discussion  with  his  own. 

"Surgery's  a  little  in  their  practice  too,  we  think  in 
Ireland,"  said  Patrick. 

Mr.  Camminy  assented:  "No  doubt."  He  was  hun- 
gry, and  enjoyed  the  look  of  the  table,  but  the  look  of  his 


THE  PRINCESS  35 

client  chilled  the  prospect,  considered  in  its  genial  appear- 
ance as  a  feast  of  stages;  having  luminous  extension;  so, 
to  ease  his  cUent's  mind,  he  ventured  to  say :  "I  thought  it 
might  be  urgent." 

"It  is  urgent,"  was  the  answer. 

"Ah:  foreign?  domestic?" 

A  frown  replied. 

Caroline,  in  haste  to  have  her  duties  over,  that  she  might 
escape  the  dreaded  outburst,  pressed  another  cup  of  tea  on 
Mr.  Camminy  and  groaned  to  see  him  fill  his  plate.  She 
tried  to  start  a  topic  with  Patrick. 

"The  princess  is  well,  I  hope?"  Mr.  Camminy  asked  in 
the  voice  of  discretion.     "It  concerns  her  Highness?" 

"It  concerns  my  daughter  and  her  inheritance  from  her 
mad  grandmother!"  Mr.  Adister  rejoined  loudly;  and  he 
continued  hke  a  retreating  thunder:  "A  princess  with  a 
title  as  empty  as  a  skull!  At  best  a  princess  of  swamps, 
and  swine  that  fight  for  acorns,  and  men  that  fight  for 
swine!" 

Patrick  caught  a  glance  from  Caroline,  and  the  pair  rose 
together. 

"They  did  that  in  our  mountains  a  couple  of  thousand 
years  ago,"  said  Mr.  Camminy,  "and  the  cause  was  not  so 
bad,  to  judge  by  this  ham.  Men  must  fight:  the  law  is 
only  a  quieter  field  for  them." 

"And  a  fatter  for  the  ravens,"  Patrick  joined  in  softly, 
as  if  carrying  on  a  song. 

"Have  at  us,   Mr.   O'Donnell!     I'm  ashamed  of  my 


36  CELT  AND  SAXON 

appetite,  Miss  Adister,  but  the  morning's  drive  must  be  my 
excuse,  and  I'm  bounden  to  you  for  not  forcing  me  to  detain 
you.  Yes,  I  can  finish  breakfast  at  my  leisure,  and  talk 
of  business,  which  is  never  particularly  interesting  to 
ladies  —  though,"  Mr.  Camminy  turned  to  her  uncle,  "I 
know  Miss  Adister  has  a  head  for  it." 

Patrick  hummed  a  bar  or  two  of  an  air,  to  hint  of  his 
being  fanatico  per  la  musica,  as  a  pretext  for  their  departure. 

"If  you'll  deign  to  give  me  a  lesson,"  said  he,  as  Caroline 
came  away  from  pressing  her  lips  to  her  uncle's  forehead. 

"I  may  discover  that  I  am  about  to  receive  one,"  said 
she. 

They  quitted  the  room  together. 

Mr.  Camminy  had  seen  another  Miss  Adister  duetting 
with  a  young  Irishman  and  an  O'Donnell,  with  lamentable 
results  to  that  union  of  voices,  and  he  permitted  himself  to 
be  a  little  astonished  at  his  respected  client's  defective 
memory  or  indifference  to  the  admonition  of  identical 
circumstances. 


CHAPTER  V 

AT  THE   PIANO,   CHIEFLY  WITHOUT  MUSIC 

Barely  had  the  door  shut  behind  them  when  Patrick 
let  his  heart  out:  " The  princess ? "  He  had  a  famished 
look,  and  Caroline  gUded  along  swiftly  with  her  head  bent, 
like  one  musing;  his  tone  alarmed  her;  she  lent  him  her 
ear,  that  she  might  get  some  understanding  of  his  excite- 
ment, suddenly  as  it  seemed  to  have  come  on  him;  but 
he  was  all  in  his  hungry  interrogation,  and  as  she  reached 
her  piano  and  raised  the  lid,  she  saw  it  on  tiptoe  straining 
for  her  answer. 

"I  thought  you  were  aware  of  my  cousin's  marriage." 

"Was  I?"  said  Patrick,  asking  it  of  himself,  for  his 
conscience  would  not  acknowledge  an  absolute  ignorance. 
"No:  I  fought  it,  I  wouldn't  have  a  blot  on  her  be  sus- 
pected. She's  married!  She's  married  to  one  of  their 
princes!  —  married  for  a  title!  —  and  changed  her  religion.' 
And  Miss  Adister,  you're  speaking  of  Adiante?" 

"My  cousin  Adiante." 

"Well  did  1  hate  the  name!     I  heard  it  first  over  in 

France.     Our  people  wrote  to  me  of  her;  and  it's  a  name 

to  set  you  thinking:     Is  she  tender,   or  nothing  like  a 

woman,  —  a  stone  ?     And  I  put  it  to  my  best  friend  there, 

S/ 


38  CELT  AND   SAXON 

Father  Clement,  who's  a  scholar,  up  in  everything,  and  he 
said  it  was  a  name  with  a  pretty  sound  and  an  ill  meaning 
—  far  from  tender;  and  a  bad  history  too,  for  she  was  one 
of  the  forty-nine  Danaides  who  killed  their  husbands  for 
the  sake  of  their  father  and  was  not  likely  to  be  the  fifti- 
eth, considering  the  name  she  bore.  It  was  for  her  father's 
sake  she  as  good  as  killed  her  lover,  and  the  two  Adian 
tes  are  Hke  enough:  they're  as  like  as  a  pair  of  hands  witii 
daggers.  So  that  was  my  brother  Philip's  luck!  She'*^ 
married!  It's  done;  it's  over,  Hke  death:  no  hope.  And 
this  time  it's  against  her  father;  it's  against  her  faith. 
There's  the  end  of  Philip!  I  could  have  prophesied  it; I 
did;  and  when  they  broke,  from  her  casting  him  off  — 
true  to  her  name!  thought  I.  She  cast  him  off,  and  she 
couldn't  wait  for  him,  and  there's  his  heart  broken.  And 
I  ready  to  glorify  her  for  a  saint!  And  now  she  must  have 
loved  the  man,  or  his  title,  to  change  her  religion.  She 
gives  him  her  soul !  No  praise  to  her  for  that:  but  mercy! 
what  a  love  it  must  be.  Or  else  it's  a  spell.  But  wasn't 
she  rather  one  for  flinging  spells  than  melting?  Except 
that  we're  all  of  us  hit  at  last,  and  generally  by  our  own 
weapon.  But  she  loved  Philip:  she  loved  him  down  to 
shipwreck  and  drowning:  she  gave  battle  for  him,  and 
against  her  father;  all  the  place  here  and  the  country's 
ahve  with  their  meetings  and  partings:  —  she  can't  have 
married!  She  wouldn't  change  her  religion  for  her  lover- 
how  can  she  have  done  it  for  this  prince?  Why,  it's  to 
swear  false  oaths!  —  unless  it's  possible  for  a  woman  to 


AT  THE   PIANO  39 

slip  out  of  herself  and  be  another  person  after  a  death  like 
that  of  a  love  like  hers." 

Patrick  stopped:   the  idea  demanded  a  scrutiny. 

"She's  another  person  for  me,"  he  said.  "Here's  the 
worst  I  ever  imagined  of  her!  —  thousands  of  miles  and  pits 
of  sulphur  beyond  the  worst  and  the  very  worst !  I  thought 
her  fickle,  I  thought  her  heartless,  rather  a  black  fairy, 
perched  above  us,  not  quite  among  the  stars  of  heaven.  I 
had  my  ideas.  But  never  that  she  was  a  creature  to  jump 
herself  down  into  a  gulf  and  be  lost  for  ever.  She's  gone, 
extinguished  —  there  she  is,  under  the  penitent's  hoodcap 
with  eyeholes,  before  the  faggots !  and  that's  what  she  has 
married !  —  a  burning  torment,  and  none  of  the  joys  of 
martyrdom.  Oh!  I'm  not  awake.  But  I  never  dreamed 
of  such  a  thing  as  this  —  not  the  hard,  bare,  lump-of -earth- 
fact:  —  and  that's  the  only  thing  to  tell  me  I'm  not  dream- 
ing now." 

He  subsided  again;  then  deeply  beseeching  asked-. 
"Have  you  by  chance  a  portrait  of  the  gentleman,  Miss 
Adister?     Is  there  one  anywhere?" 

Caroline  stood  at  her  piano,  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
a  music-book,  with  a  pressure  on  her  eyelids.  She  was  near 
upon  being  thrilled  in  spite  of  an  astonishment  almost 
petrifying:  and  she  could  nearly  have  smiled,  so  strange 
was  his  fraternal  adoption,  amounting  to  a  vivification  of 
his  brother's  passion.  He  seemed  quite  naturally  to  im- 
personate Philip.  She  wondered,  too,  in  the  coolness  of 
her  alien  blood,  whether  he  was  a  character,  or  merely  an 


40  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Irish  character.  As  to  the  unwontedness  of  the  scene, 
Ireland  was  chargeable  with  that;  and  Ireland  also,  a  Httle 
at  his  expense  as  a  citizen  of  the  polite  world,  relieved 
him  of  the  extreme  ridicule  attached  to  his  phrases  and 
images. 

She  replied:     "We  have  no  portrait." 

"May  I  beg  to  know,  have  you  seen  him  ?"  said  Patrick. 

Caroline  shook  her  head. 

"Is  there  no  telling  what  he  is  like.  Miss  Adister?" 

"He  is  not  young." 

"An  old  man!" 

She  had  not  said  that,  and  she  wished  to  defend  her 
cousin  from  the  charge  of  contracting  such  an  alliance,  but 
Patrick's  face  had  brightened  out  of  a  gloom  of  stupe- 
faction; he  assured  her  he  was  now  ready  to  try  his  voice 
with  hers,  only  she  was  to  excuse  a  touch  of  hoarseness; 
he  felt  it  slightly  in  his  throat:  and  could  he,  she  asked  him, 
wonder  at  it  after  his  morning's  bath  ?  He  vindicated  the 
saneness  of  the  bath  as  well  as  he  was  able,  showing  him- 
self at  least  a  good  reader  of  music.  On  the  whole,  he  sang 
pleasantly,  particularly  French  songs.  She  complimented 
him,  with  an  emphasis  on  the  French.  He  said,  yes,  he 
fancied  he  did  best  in  French,  and  he  had  an  idea  of  settling 
in  France,  if  he  found  that  he  could  not  live  quietly  in  his 
own  country. 

"And  becoming  a  Frenchman?"  said  Caroline. 

"Why  not?"  said  he.  "I'm  more  at  home  with  French 
people;    they're  mostly  of  my  creed;    they're  amiable. 


AT  THE   PIANO  41 

though  they  weren't  quite  kind  to  poor  Lally  Tollendal.  I 
like  them.  Yes,  I  love  France,  and  when  I'm  called  upon 
to  fix  myself,  as  I  suppose  I  shall  be  some  day,  I  shan't 
have  the  bother  over  there  that  I  should  find  here." 

She  spoke  reproachfully:  "Have  you  no  pride  in  the 
title  of  Englishman?"  n 

"I'm  an  Irishman." 

"We  are  one  nation." 

"And  it's  one  family  where  the  dog  is  pulled  by  the 
collar." 

There  was  a  retort  on  him :  she  saw,  as  it  were,  the  box, 
but  the  lid  would  not  open  to  assist  her  to  it,  and  she  let 
it  go  by,  thinking  in  her  patriotic  derision,  that  to  choose 
to  be  likened  to  the  unwilling  dog  of  the  family  was  evidence 
of  a  want  of  saving  pride. 

Besides  she  could  not  trust  to  the  glibness  of  her  tongue 
in  a  contest  with  a  young  gentleman  to  whom  talking  was 
as  easy  as  breathing,  even  if  sometimes  his  volubility  ex- 
posed him  to  attack.  A  superior  position  was  offered  her 
by  her  being  silent  and  critical.  She  stationed  herself  on 
it:  still  she  was  grieved  to  think  of  him  as  a  renegade  from 
his  country,  and  she  forced  herself  to  say:  "Captain 
O'Donnell  talks  in  that  manner." 

"Captain  Con  is  constitutionally  discontented  because 

he's  a  bard  by  nature,  and  without  the  right  theme  for 

his  harp,"  said  Patrick.     "He  has  a  notion  of  Erin  as  the 

i    unwilling  bride  of  Mr.  Bull,  because  her  lord  is  not  off  in 

heroics  enough  to  please  her,  and  neglects  her,  and  won't 


42  CELT   AND   SAXON 

let  her  be  mistress  of  her  own  household,  and  she  can't 
forget  that  he  once  had  the  bad  trick  of  beating  her:  she 
sees  the  marks.  And  you  mayn't  believe  it,  but  the  cap- 
tain's temper  is  to  praise  and  exalt.  It  is.  Irony  in  him 
b  only  eulogy  standing  on  its  head:  a  sort  of  an  upside 
down ;  a  perversion :  that's  our  view  of  him  at  home.  All 
he  desires  is  to  have  us  on  the  march,  and  he'd  be  perfectly 
happy  marching,  never  mind  the  banner,  though  a  bit  of 
green  in  it  would  put  him  in  tune,  of  course.  The  banner 
of  the  Cid  was  green,  Miss  Adister:  or  else  it's  his  pennon 
that  was.  And  there's  a  quantity  of  our  blood  in  Spain, 
too.     We've  watered  many  lands." 

The  poor  young  English  lady's  brain  started  wildly  on 
the  effort  to  be  with  him,  and  to  understand  whether  she 
listened  to  humour  or  emotion :  she  reposed  herself  as  well 
as  she  could  in  the  contemplation  of  an  electrically-flashing 
maze,  where  every  Une  ran  losing  itself  in  another. 

He  added:  "Old  Philip!"  in  a  visible  throb  of  pity  for 
his  brother;  —  after  the  scrupulous  dubitation  between  the 
banner  and  the  pennon  of  the  Cid ! 

It  would  have  comforted  her  to  laugh.  She  was  closer 
upon  tears,  and  without  any  reason  for  them  in  her  heart. 

Such  a  position  brings  the  hesitancy  which  says  that  the 
sitting  is  at  an  end. 

She  feared,  as  she  laid  aside  her  music-books,  that  there 
would  be  more  to  come  about  Adiante,  but  he  spared  her. 
He  bowed  to  her  departing,  and  strolled  off  by  himself. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    consultation:     with    opinions    upon    WELSHWOMEN 
AND  THE  CAMBRIAN  RACE 

Later  in  the  day  she  heard  that  he  was  out  scouring  the 
country  on  one  of  her  uncle's  horses.  She  had  too  many 
distressing  matters  to  think  of  for  so  singular  a  young  man 
to  have  any  other  place  than  that  which  is  given  to  the 
fantastical  in  a  troubled  and  serious  mind.  He  danced 
there  like  the  whimsy  sunbeam  of  a  shaken  water  below. 
What  would  be  his  opinion  of  Adiante  if  he  knew  of  her 
determination  to  sell  the  two  fair  estates  she  inherited  from 
a  grandmother  whom  she  had  venerated,  that  she  might 
furnish  arms  to  her  husband  to  carry  out  an  audacious 
enterprise  likely  to  involve  both  of  them  in  blood  and  ruin  ? 
Would  he  not  bound  up  aloft  and  quiver  still  more  wildly  ? 
She  respected,  quaint  though  it  was,  his  imaginative  heat 
of  feeling  for  Adiante  sufficiently  to  associate  him  with  her 
so  far;  and  she  lent  him  in  fancy  her  own  bewilderment  and 
grief  at  her  cousin's  conduct,  for  the  soothing  that  his  ex- 
aggeration of  them  afforded  her.  She  could  almost  hear 
his  outcry. 

The  business  of  the  hour  demanded  more  of  her  than  a 

seeking  for  refreshment.     She  had  been  invited  to  join  the 

43 


44  CELT  AND  SAXON 

consultation  of  her  uncle  with  his  lawyer.  Mr.  Adister 
tossed  her  another  letter  from  Vienna,  of  that  morning's 
delivery.  She  read  it  with  composure.  It  became  her  task 
to  pay  no  heed  to  his  loss  of  patience,  and  induce  him  to 
acquiesce  in  his  legal  adviser's  view:  which  was,  to  tem- 
porise further,  present  an  array  of  obstacles,  and  by  all 
possible  suggestions  induce  the  princess  to  come  over  to 
England,  where  her  father's  influence  with  her  would  have 
a  chance  of  being  established  again;  and  it  might  then  be 
hoped  that  she,  who  had  never  when  under  sharp  tempta- 
tion acted  disobediently  to  his  washes  at  home,  and  who 
certainly  would  not  have  dreamed  of  contracting  the  ab- 
horred alliance  had  she  been  breathing  the  air  of  common 
sense  peculiar  to  her  native  land,  would  see  the  prudence, 
if  not  the  solemn  obligation,  of  retaining  to  herself  these 
family  possessions.  Caroline  was  urgent  with  her  uncle 
to  act  on  such  good  counsel.  She  marvelled  at  his  opposi- 
tion, though  she  detected  the  principal  basis  of  it. 

Mr.  Adister  had  no  ground  of  opposition  but  his  own 
intemperateness.  The  Welsh  grandmother's  legacy  of  her 
estates  to  his  girl,  overlooking  her  brothers,  Colonel 
Arthur  and  Captain  David,  had  excessively  vexed  him, 
despite  the  strong  feeling  he  entertained  for  Adiante;  and 
not  simply  because  of  the  blow  he  received  in  it  unex- 
pectedly from  that  old  lady,  as  the  last  and  heaviest  of  the 
long  and  open  feud  between  them,  but  also,  chiefly,  that 
it  outraged  and  did  permanent  injury  to  his  ideas  of  the 
proper  balance  of  the  sexes.     Between  himself  and  Mrs. 


A  CONSULTATION  45 

Winnion  Rhys  the  condition  of  the  balance  had  been  a 
point  of  vehement  disputation,  she  insisting  to  have  it  finer 
up  to  equaUty,  and  he  that  the  naturally  lighter  scale  should 
continue  to  kick  the  beam.  Behold  now  the  consequence 
of  the  wilful  Welshwoman's  insanest  of  legacies!  The 
estates  were  left  to  Adiante  Adister  for  her  sole  use  and 
benefit,  making  almost  a  man  of  her,  and  an  unshackled 
man,  owing  no  dues  to  posterity.  Those  estates  in  the 
hands  of  a  woman  are  in  the  hands  of  her  husband;  and 
the  husband  a  gambler  and  a  knave,  they  are  in  the  hands 
of  the  Jews  —  or  gone  to  smoke.  Let  them  go.  A  devilish 
malignity  bequeathed  them:  let  them  go  back  to  their 
infernal  origin.  And  when  they  were  gone,  his  girl  would 
soon  discover  that  there  was  no  better  place  to  come  to  than 
her  home;  she  would  come  without  an  asking,  and  alone, 
and  without  much  prospect  of  the  intrusion  of  her  infamous 
Hooknose  in  pursuit  of  her  at  Earlsfont.  The  money 
wasted,  the  wife  would  be  at  peace.  Here  she  would  have 
leisure  to  repent  of  all  the  steps  she  had  taken  since  that 
fatal  one  of  the  acceptance  of  the  invitation  to  the  Embassy 
at  Vienna.  Mr.  Adister  had  warned  her  both  against  her 
going  and  against  the  influence  of  her  friend  Lady  Wen- 
chester,  our  Ambassadress  there,  another  Welshwoman, 
'  with  the  weather-vane  head  of  her  race.  But  the  girl 
;  would  accept,  and  it  was  not  for  him  to  hold  out.  It  ap- 
!  peared  to  be  written  tliat  the  Welsh,  particularly  Welsh 
.'  women,  were  destined  to  worry  him  up  to  the  end  of  his 
days.     Their  women  were  a  composition  of  wind  and  fire. 


46  CELT  AND   SAXON 

They  had  no  reason,  nothing  solid  in  their  whole  nature. 
Enghshmen  allied  to  them  had  to  learn  that  they  were 
dealing  with  broomstick  witches  and  irresponsible  sprites. 
Irishwomen  were  models  of  propriety  beside  them :  indeed, 
Irishwomen  might  often  be  patterns  to  their  English  sister- 
hood. Mr.  Adister  described  the  Cambrian  ladies  as  a 
kind  of  daughters  of  the  Fata  Morgana,  only  half  human, 
and  deceptive  down  to  treachery,  unless  you  had  them  fast 
by  their  spinning  fancy.  They  called  it  being  romantic. 
It  was  the  ante-chamber  of  madness.  ^Nlad,  was  the  word 
for  them.  You  pleased  them  you  knew  not  how,  and  just 
as  Httle  did  you  know  how  you  displeased  them.  And  you 
W'cre  long  hence  to  be  taught  that  in  a  certain  past  year,  and 
a  certain  month,  and  on  a  certain  day  of  the  month,  not 
forgetting  the  hour  of  the  day  to  the  minute  of  the  hour,  and 
attendant  circumstances  to  swear  loud  witness  to  it,  you  had 
mortally  offended  them.  And  you  receive  your  blow: 
you  are  sure  to  get  it:  the  one  passion  of  those  women  is 
for  vengeance.  They  taste  a  wound  from  the  lightest 
touch,  and  they  nurse  the  venom  for  you.  Possibly  you 
may  in  their  presence  have  had  occasion  to  praise  the 
military  virtues  of  the  builder  of  Carnarvon  Castle.  You 
are  by-and-by  pierced  for  it  as  hard  as  they  can  thrust. 
Or  you  have  incidentally  compared  Welsh  mutton  with 
Southdown :  —  you  have  not  highly  esteemed  their  drunken 
Bards :  —  you  have  asked  what  the  Welsh  have  done  in 
the  world;  you  are  supposed  to  have  slighted  some  person 
of  their  familv  —  a  tenth  cousin!  —  anvthing  turns  their 


A  CONSULTATION  47 

blood.  Or  you  have  once  looked  straight  at  them  without 
speaking,  and  you  discover  years  after  that  they  have 
chosen  to  foist  on  you  their  idea  of  your  idea  at  the  moment; 
and  they  have  the  astounding  presumption  to  account  this 
misreading  of  your  look  to  the  extent  of  a  full  justification, 
nothing  short  of  righteous,  for  their  treachery  and  your 
punishment!     O  those  Welshwomen! 

The  much-suffering  lord  of  Earlsfont  stretched  forth 
his  open  hand,  palm  upward,  for  a  testifying  instrument 
to  the  plain  truth  of  his  catalogue  of  charges.  He  closed 
it  tight  and  smote  the  table.  "Like  mother  —  and  grand- 
mother, too  —  like  daughter!"  he  said,  and  generalised 
again  to  preserve  his  dignity:  "They're  aflame  in  an 
instant.  You  may  see  them  quiet  for  years,  but  it  smoul- 
ders. You  dropped  the  spark,  and  they  time  the  ex- 
plosion." 

Caroline  said  to  Mr.  Camminy:  "You  are  sure  you 
can  give  us  the  day?" 

"All  of  it,"  he  replied,  apologising  for  some  show  of 
restlessness.  "The  fact  is,  Miss  Adistcr,  I  married  a  lady 
from  over  the  borders,  and  though  I  have  never  had  to 
complain  of  her  yet,  she  may  have  a  finale  in  store.  It's 
true  that  I  love  wild  Wales." 

"And  so  do  I."  CaroUne  raised  her  eyes  to  imagined 
mountains. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  Camminy,"  said  Mr.  Adister. 

The  lawyer  cracked  his  back  to  bow  to  the  great  gentle- 
man so  magnanimously  humiliating  himself .     "Sir!    Sir!" 


48  CELT  AND   SAXON 

he  said.  "Yes,  Welsh  blood  is  queer  blood,  I  own.  They 
find  it  diflScult  to  forgive;  and  trifles  offend;  and  they  are 
unhappily  just  as  secretive  as  they  are  sensitive.  The 
pangs  we  cause  them,  without  our  knowing  it,  must  be 
horrible.  They  are  born,  it  would  seem,  with  more  than 
the  common  allowance  of  kibes  for  treading  on:  a  severe 
misfortune  for  them.  Now  for  their  merits:  they  have 
poetry  in  them;  they  are  vahant;  they  are  hospitable  to 
teach  the  Arab  a  lesson:  I  do  believe  their  life  is  their 
friend's  at  need  —  seriously,  they  would  lay  it  down  for 
him :  or  the  wherewithal,  their  money,  their  property,  ex- 
cepting the  three-stringed  harp  of  three  generations  back, 
worth  now  in  current  value  sixpence  halfpenny  as  a  cu- 
riosity, or  three  farthings  for  firewood;  that  they'll  keep 
against  their  own  desire  to  heap  on  you  everything  they 
have  —  if  they  love  you,  and  you  at  the  same  time  have 
struck  their  imaginations.  Offend  them,  however,  and 
it's  war,  declared  or  covert.  And  I  must  admit  that  their 
best  friend  can  too  easily  offend  them.  I  have  lost  excel- 
lent clients,  I  have  never  understood  why;  yet  I  respect 
the  remains  of  their  literature,  I  study  their  language,  I 
attend  their  gatherings  and  subscribe  the  expenses;  I  con- 
sume Welsh  mutton  with  relish;  I  enjoy  the  Triads,  and 
can  come  down  on  them  with  a  quotation  from  Catwg  the 
Wise:  but  it  so  chanced  that  I  trod  on  a  kibe,  and  I  had 
to  pay  the  penalty.  There's  an  Arabian  tale,  Miss  Adister, 
of  a  peaceful  traveller  who  ate  a  date  in  the  desert  and 
flung  away  the  stone,  which  hit  an  invisible  son  of  a  genie 


A   CONSULTATION  49 

in  the  eye,  and  the  poor  traveller  suffered  for  it.  Well,  you 
commit  these  mortal  injuries  to  the  invisible  among  the 
Welsh.  Some  of  them  are  hurt  if  you  call  them  Welsh. 
They  scout  it  as  the  original  Saxon  title  for  them.  No, 
they  are  Cymry,  Cambrians!  They  have  forgiven  the 
Romans.  Saxon  and  Norman  are  still  their  enemies.  If 
you  stir  their  hearts  you  find  it  so.  And,  by  the  way,  if 
King  Edward  had  not  trampled  them  into  the  mire  so 
thoroughly,  we  should  hear  of  it  at  times  even  now.  In- 
stead of  penillions  and  englyns,  there  would  be  days  for 
fiery  triplets.  Say  the  worst  of  them,  they  are  sound- 
headed.  They  have  a  ready  comprehension  for  great 
thoughts.  The  Princess  Nikolas,  I  remember,  had  a 
special  fondness  for  the  words  of  Catwg  the  Wise." 

"  Adiante,"  had  murmured  CaroUne,  to  correct  his  indis- 
cretion. 

She  was  too  late. 

"Nikolas!"  Mr.  Adister  thundered.  "Hold  back  that 
name  in  this  house,  title  and  all,  if  you  speak  of  my  daugh- 
ter. I  refuse  admission  to  it  here.  She  has  given  up  my 
name,  and  she  must  be  known  by  the  one  her  feather- 
brained grandmother  proposed  for  her,  to  satisfy  her 
pleasure  in  a  fine  sound.  English  Christian  names  are  my 
preference.  I  conceded  Arthur  to  her  without  diflJiculty. 
She  had  a  voice  in  David,  I  recollect;  with  very  little  profit 
to  either  of  the  boys.  I  had  no  voice  in  Adiante;  but  I 
stood  at  my  girl's  baptism,  and  Adiante  let  her  be.  At 
least  I  saved  the  girl  from  the  addition  of  Arianrod.     It 


50  CELT  AND  SAXON 

was  to  have  been  Adiante  Arianrod.  Can  you  credit  it? 
Prince  —  pah  I  Nikolas  ?  Have  you  a  notion  of  the  sort 
of  prince  that  makes  an  English  lady  of  the  best  blood  of 
England  his  princess  ?  " 

The  lawyer  had  a  precise  notion  of  the  sort  of  prince 
appearing  to  Mr.  Adister  in  the  person  of  his  foreign  son-in- 
law.  Prince  Nikolas  had  been  described  to  him  before, 
with  graphic  touches  upon  the  quality  of  the  reputation  he 
bore  at  the  courts  and  in  the  gambling-saloons  of  Europe. 
Dreading  lest  his  client's  angry  heat  should  precipitate 
him  on  the  prince  again,  to  the  confusion  of  a  lady's  ears, 
Mr.  Camminy  gave  an  emphatic  and  short  affirmative. 

"You  know  what  he  is  Hke?"  said  Mr.  Adister,  with  a 
face  of  disgust  reflected  from  the  bare  thought  of  the  hide- 
ous likeness. 

Mr.  Camminy  assured  him  that  the  description  of  the 
prince's  Uneaments  would  not  be  new.  It  was,  as  he  was 
aware,  derived  from  a  miniature  of  her  husband,  trans- 
mitted by  the  princess,  on  its  flight  out  of  her  father's 
loathing  hand  to  the  hearthstone  and  under  his  heel. 

Assisted  by  Caroline,  he  managed  to  check  the  famous 
deUneation  of  the  adventurer  prince  in  which  a  not  very 
worthy  gentleman's  chronic  fever  of  abomination  made  him 
really  eloquent,  quick  to  unburden  himself  in  the  teeth  of 
decorum. 

"And  my  son-in-law!  My  son-in-law!"  ejaculated  Mr. 
Adister,  tossing  his  head  higher,  and  so  he  stimulated  his 
amazement  and  abhorrence  of  the  portrait  he  rather  won- 


A  CONSULTATION  51 

dered  at  them  for  not  desiring  to  have  sketched  for  their 
execration  of  it,  alluringly  foul  as  it  was:  while  they  in 
concert  drew  him  back  to  the  discussion  of  his  daughter's 
business,  reiterating  prudent  counsel,  with  a  knowledge 
that  they  had  only  to  wait  for  the  ebbing  of  his  temper. 

"Let  her  be  informed,  sir,  that  by  coming  to  England  she 
can  settle  the  business  according  to  her  wishes  in  one  quar- 
ter of  the  time  it  would  take  a  Commission  sent  out  to  her 
—  if  we  should  be  authorised  to  send  out  one,"  said  Mr. 
Camminy.  "By  committing  the  business  to  you,  I  fancy  I 
perceive  your  daughter's  disposition  to  consider  your  feel- 
ings :  possibly  to  a  reluctance  to  do  the  deed  unsanctioned 
by  her  father.  It  would  appear  so  to  a  cool  observer, 
notwithstanding  her  inattention  to  your  remonstrances." 

The  reply  was:  "Dine  here  and  sleep  here.  I  shall  be 
having  more  of  these  letters,"  Mr.  Adister  added,  pro- 
foundly sighing. 

CaroUne  slipped  away  to  mark  a  conclusion  to  the  debate; 
and  Mr.  Camminy  saw  his  cUent  redden  fast  and  frown. 

"Besides,"  he  spoke  in  a  husky  voice,  descending  upon 
a  subject  hateful,  "she  tells  me  to-day  she  is  not  in  a  state 
to  travel!     Do  you  hear?     Make  what  you  can  of  it." 

The  proud  and  injured  gentleman  had  the  aspect  of  one 
who  receives  a  blow  that  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  resent. 
He  could  not  speak  the  shame  he  felt:  it  was  Uterally  in 
his  flesh.  But  the  cause  had  been  sufficiently  hinted  to  set 
the  lawyer  staring  as  men  do  when  they  encounter  situa- 
tions of  grisly  humour,  where  certain  of  the  passions  of 


52  CELT  AND  SAXON 

man's  developed  nature  are  seen  armed  and  furious  against 
our  mild  prevailing  ancient  mother  nature;  and  the  con- 
trast is  between  our  utter  wrath  and  her  simple  exposition 
of  the  circumstances  and  consequences  forming  her  laws. 
There  are  situations  which  pass  beyond  the  lightly  stirred 
perceptive  wits  to  the  quiet  court  of  the  intellect,  to  be 
received  there  as  an  addition  to  our  acquaintance  with 
mankind.  We  know  not  of  what  substance  to  name  them. 
Humour  in  its  intense  strain  has  a  seat  somewhere  about 
the  mouth  of  tragedy,  giving  it  the  enigmatical  faint  wry 
pull  at  a  corner  visible  at  times  upon  the  dreadful  mask. 

That  Mr.  Adister  should  be  astonished  at  such  a  com- 
munication from  the  princess,  after  a  year  of  her  marriage : 
and  that  he  should  take  it  for  a  further  outrage  of  his  pa- 
ternal sentiments,  should  actually  redden  and  be  hoarse  in 
alluding  to  it:  the  revelation  of  such  points  in  our  human 
character  set  the  humane  old  lawyer  staring  at  the  reserve 
space  within  himself  apart  from  his  legal  being,  whereon 
he  by  fits  compared  his  own  constitution  with  that  of  the 
individuals  revealed  to  him  by  their  acts  and  confidential 
utterances.  For  him,  he  decided  that  he  would  have 
rejoiced  at  the  news. 

Granting  the  prince  a  monster,  however,  as  ]Mr.  Adister 
unforcedly  considered  him,  it  was  not  so  cheering  a  piece 
of  intelligence  that  involved  him  yet  closer  with  that  man's 
rank  blood:  it  curdled  his  own.  The  marriage  had 
shocked  and  stricken  him,  cleaving,  in  his  love  for  his 
daughter,  a  goodly  tree  and  withering  many  flowers.     Still 


A  CONSULTATION  5i 

the  marriage  was  but  Adiante's  gulf:  he  might  be  called 
father-in-law  of  her  spangled  ruffian;  son-in-law  the 
desperado-rascal  would  never  be  called  by  him.  But  the 
result  of  the  marriage  dragged  him  bodily  into  the  gulf :  he 
became  one  of  four,  numbering  the  beast  twice  among  them. 
The  subtlety  of  his  hatred  so  reckoned  it;  for  he  could  not 
deny  his  daughter  in  the  father's  child ;  he  could  not  exclude 
its  unhallowed  father  in  the  mother's:  and  of  this  man's 
child  he  must  know  and  own  himself  the  grandfather.  If 
ever  he  saw  the  child,  if  drawn  to  it  to  fondle  it,  some 
part  of  the  little  animal  not  his  daughter's  would  partake 
of  his  embrace.  And  if  neither  of  his  boys  married,  and  his 
girl  gave  birth  to  a  son !  darkness  roiled  upon  that  avenue 
of  vision.  A  trespasser  and  usurper  —  one  of  the  demon's 
brood  chased  his  very  name  out  of  Earlsf ont ! 

"Camminy,  you  must  try  to  amuse  yourself,"  he  said 
briskly.  "Anything  you  may  be  wanting  at  home  shall  be 
sent  for.  I  must  have  you  here  to  make  sure  that  I  am 
acting  under  good  advice.  You  can  take  one  of  the  keep- 
ers for  an  hour  or  two  of  shooting.  I  may  join  you  in 
the  afternoon.  You  will  find  occupation  for  your  gun  in 
the  north  covers." 

He  wandered  about  the  house,  looking  into  several 
rooms,  and  only  partially  at  rest  when  he  discovered  Caro- 
line in  one,  engaged  upon  some  of  her  aquarelle  sketches. 
He  asked  where  the  young  Irishman  was. 

"Are  you  in  search  of  him?"  said  she.  "You  like  him, 
uncle?     He  is  out  riding,  they  tell  me." 


54  CELT  AND  SAXON 

"The  youngster  is  used  to  south-western  showers  in 
that  climate  of  his,"  Mr.  Adister  replied.  "I  dare  say  we 
could  find  the  Jesuit  in  him  somewhere.  There's  the  seed. 
His  cousin  Con  O'Donnell  has  filled  him  with  stuff 
about  Ireland  and  England :  the  man  has  no  better  to  do 
than  to  train  a  parrot.  What  do  you  think  of  him,  my 
love?" 

The  judgment  was  not  easily  formed  for  expression. 
"He  is  not  quite  like  what  I  remember  of  his  brother 
Philip.  He  talks  much  more,  does  he  not?  He  seems 
more  Irish  than  his  brother.  He  is  very  strange.  His 
feelings  are  strong;  he  has  not  an  idea  of  concealing  them. 
For  a  young  man  educated  by  the  Jesuits,  he  is  remarkably 
open." 

"The  Jesuits  might  be  of  service  to  me  just  now!" 
Mr.  Adister  addressed  his  troubled  soul,  and  spoke  upon 
another  conception  of  them:  "How  has  he  shown  his 
feeUngs?" 

Carohne  answered  quickly:  "His  love  of  his  brother. 
Anything  that  concerns  his  brother  moves  him ;  it  is  like  a 
touch  on  a  musical  instrument.  Perhaps  I  should  say  a 
native  one." 

"Concerns  his  brother?"  Mr.  Adister  inquired,  and  his 
look  requesting  enlightenment  told  her  siie  might  speak. 

"Adiante,"  she  said  softly.     She  coloured. 

Her  uncle  mused  awhile  in  a  half-somnolent  gloom. 
"He  talks  of  this  at  this  present  day?" 

"It  is  not  dead    to  him.     He  really  appeal's   to  have 


A  CONSULTATION  55 

hoped  ...  he  is  extraordinary.  He  had  not  heard  before 
of  her  marriage.  I  was  a  witness  of  the  most  singular 
scene  this  morning,  at  the  piano.  He  gathered  it  from 
what  he  had  heard.  He  was  overwhehned  by  it.  I  could 
not  exaggerate.  It  was  impossible  to  help  being  a  httle 
touched,  though  it  was  so  curious,  very  strange." 

Her  uncle's  attentiveness  incited  her  to  describe  the 
scene,  and  as  it  visibly  relieved  his  melancholy,  she  did  it 
with  a  few  vivid  indications  of  the  quaint  young  Irishman's 
manner  of  speech.  She  concluded:  "At  last  he  begged 
to  see  a  portrait  of  her  husband." 

"Not  of  her?"  said  Mr.  Adister  abruptly. 

"No;   only  of  her  husband." 

"Show  him  her  portrait." 

A  shade  of  surprise  was  on  Caroline's  forehead.  "Shall 
I?"  She  had  a  dim  momentary  thought  that  the  sight  of 
the  beautiful  face  would  not  be  good  for  Patrick. 

"Yes;  let  him  see  the  woman  who  could  tlirow  herself 
away  on  that  branded  villain  called  a  prince,  abjuring  her 
Church  for  a  little  fouler  than  hangman  to  me  and  every 
gentleman  alive.  I  desire  that  he  should  see  it.  Sub- 
mission to  the  demands  of  her  husband's  policy  required  it 
of  her,  she  says !  Show  it  him  when  he  returns ;  you  have 
her  miniature  in  your  keeping.  And  to-morrow  take  him 
to  look  at  the  full-length  of  her  before  she  left  England  and 
ceased  to  be  a  lady  of  our  country.  I  will  order  it  to  be 
placed  in  the  armoury.  Let  him  see  the  miniature  of  her 
this  day." 


56  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Mr.  Adister  resolved  at  the  same  time  that  Patrick 
lihould  have  his  portrait  of  the  prince  for  a  set-off  to  the 
face  of  his  daughter.  He  craved  the  relief  it  would  be  to 
him  to  lay  his  colours  on  the  prince  for  the  sparkling 
amazement  of  one  whom,  according  to  Caroline's  descrip- 
tion, he  could  expect  to  feel  with  him  acutely,  which  neither 
his  niece  nor  his  lawyer  had  done:  they  never  did  when  he 
painted  the  prince.  He  was  unstrung,  heavily  plunged  in 
the  matter  of  his  chagrin  and  grief:  his  unhealed  wound 
had  been  scraped  and  strewn  with  salt  by  his  daughter's 
letter;  he  had  a  thirst  for  the  kind  of  sympathy  he  sup- 
posed he  would  find  in  the  young  Irishman's  horror  at  the 
husband  of  the  incomparable  beauty  now  past  redemption 
degraded  by  her  hideous  choice;  lost  to  England  and  to  her 
father  and  to  common  respect.  For  none,  hanng  once 
had  the  picture  of  the  man,  could  dissociate  them;  they 
were  like  heaven  and  its  reverse,  everlastingly  coupled  in 
the  mind  by  their  opposition  of  characters  and  aspect. 
Her  father  could  not,  and  he  judged  of  others  by  himself. 
He  had  been  all  but  utterly  solitary  since  her  marriage, 
brooded  on  it  until  it  saturated  him;  too  proud  to  speak 
of  the  thing  in  sadness,  or  claim  condolence  for  this  wound 
inflicted  on  him  by  the  daughter  he  had  idolised  other  than 
through  the  indirect  method  of  causing  people  to  wonder  at 
her  chosen  yoke-fellow.  Their  stupefaction  refreshed  him. 
Yet  he  was  a  gentleman  capable  of  apprehending  simul- 
taneously that  he  sinned  against  his  pride  in  the  means 
he  adopted  to  comfort  his  nature.     But  the  wound  was  a 


A  CONSULTATION  57 

perpetual  sickness  needing  soul-medicine.  Proud  as  he 
was,  and  unbending,  he  was  not  stronger  than  his  malady, 
and  he  could  disguise,  he  could  not  contain,  the  cry  of 
immoderate  grief.  Adiante  had  been  to  him  something 
beyond  a  creature  beloved;  she  had  with  her  glorious 
beauty  and  great-heartedness  been  the  sole  object  which 
had  ever  inspirited  his  imagination.  He  could  have 
thought  no  man,  not  the  most  illustrious,  worthy  of  her. 
And  there  she  was,  voluntarily  in  the  hands  of  a  monster! 
"Husband ! "  Mr.  Adister  broke  away  from  Caroline,  mut- 
tering:    "Her  husband's  policy!" 

She  was  used  to  his  interjections;  she  sat  thinking  more 
of  the  strange  request  to  her  to  show  Mr.  O'Donnell  the 
miniature  of  Adiante.  She  had  often  thought  that  her 
uncle  regretted  his  rejection  of  Philip.  It  appeared  so  to 
her  now,  though  not  by  any  consecutive  process  of  reason- 
ing. She  went  to  fetch  the  miniature,  and  gazing  on  it, 
she  tried  to  guess  at  Mr.  O'Donnell's  thoughts  when  doing 
the  same;  for  who  so  inflammable  as  he?  And  who, 
woman  or  man,  could  behold  this  lighted  face,  with  the 
dark  raised  eyes  and  abounding  auburn  tresses,  where  the 
contrast  of  colours  was  in  itself  thrilUng,  and  not  admire, 
or  more,  half  worship,  or  wholly  worship  ?  She  pitied  the 
youth:  she  fancied  that  he  would  not  continue  so  ingenu- 
ously true  to  his  brother's  love  of  Adiante  after  seeing  it; 
unless  one  might  hope  tliat  the  light  above  beauty  dis- 
tinguishing its  noble  classic  lines,  and  the  energy  of  radi- 
ance, hke  a  morning  of  chivalrous  promise,  in  the  eyes, 


58  CELT  AND   SAXON 

would  subdue  him  to  distant  admiration.  These  were  her 
flitting  thoughts  under  the  spell  of  her  queenly  cousin's 
visage.  She  shut  up  the  miniature-case,  and  waited  to 
hand  it  to  young  Mr.  O'Donnell. 


CHAPTER  Vn 


THE  MINIATURE 


Patrick  returned  to  Earlsfont  very  late;  he  had  but  ten 
minutes  to  dress  for  dinner;  a  short  allowance  after  a 
heated  ride  across  miry  tracks,  though  he  would  have 
expended  some  of  them,  in  spite  of  his  punctiUous  respect 
for  the  bell  of  the  house  entertaining  him,  if  Miss  Adister 
had  been  anywhere  on  the  stairs  or  corridors  as  he  rushed 
away  to  his  room.  He  had  things  to  tell;  he  had  not  been 
out  over  the  country  for  nothing. 

Fortunately  for  his  good  social  principles,  the  butler  at 
Earlsfont  was  a  wary  supervisor  of  his  man;  great  guest 
or  Uttle  guest;  Patrick's  linen  was  prepared  for  him  prop- 
erly studded;  he  had  only  to  spring  out  of  one  suit  into 
another;  and  still  more  fortunately  the  urgency  for  a  rapid 
execution  of  the  manoeuvre  prevented  his  noticing  a  large 
square  envelope  posted  against  the  looking-glass  of  his 
toilette-table.  He  caught  sight  of  it  first  when  pulling 
down  his  shirt-cuff  with  an  air  of  recovered  ease,  not  to 
say  genial  trimnph,  to  think  that  the  feat  of  grooming 
himself,  washing,  dressing  and  stripping,  the  accustomed 

persuasive  final  sweep  of  the  brush  to  his  hair-crop,  was 

59 


60  CELT  AND  SAXON 

done  before  the  bell  had  rung.     His  name  was  on  the 
envelope;  and  under  his  name,  in  smaller  letters, 

Adiante. 

"Shall  I?"  said  he,  doing  the  thing  he  asked  himself 
about  doing,  tearing  open  the  paper  cover  of  the  portrait 
of  her  who  had  flitted  in  his  head  for  years  unseen.  And 
there  she  was,  remote  but  present. 

His  underlip  dropped ;  he  had  the  look  of  those  who  bate 
breath  and  swarm  their  wits  to  catch  a  sound.  At  last 
he  remembered  that  the  summoning  bell  had  been  in  his 
ears  a  long  time  back,  without  his  having  been  sensible  of 
any  meaning  in  it.  He  started  to  and  fro.  The  treasure 
he  held  declined  to  enter  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  and 
the  other  pockets  he  perhaps,  if  sentimentally,  justly  dis- 
carded as  being  beneath  the  honour  of  serving  for  a  tempo- 
rary casket.  He  locked  it  up,  with  a  vow  to  come  early  to 
rest.     Even  then  he  had  thoughts  whether  it  might  be  safe. 

Who  spoke,  and  what  they  uttered  at  the  repast,  and  his 
own  remarks,  he  was  unaware  of.  He  turned  right  and 
left  a  brilliant  countenance  that  had  the  glitter  of  frost- 
light;  it  sparkled  and  was  unreceptive.  No  wonder  Miss 
Adister  deemed  him  wilder  and  stranger  than  ever.  She 
necessarily  supposed  the  excess  of  his  peculiarities  to  be  an 
effect  of  the  portrait,  and  would  have  had  him,  according 
to  her  ideas  of  a  young  man  of  some  depth  of  feehng, 
dreamier.  On  the  contrary,  he  talked  sheer  commonplace. 
He  had  ridden  to  the  spur  of  the  mountains,  and  had  put 


THE  MINIATURE  61 

up  the  mare,  and  groomed  and  fed  her,  not  permitting 
another  hand  to  touch  her:  all  very  well,  and  his  praises 
of  the  mare  likewise,  but  he  had  not  a  syllable  for  the  sub- 
lime of  the  mountains.  He  might  have  careered  over 
midland  flats  for  any  susceptibility  that  he  betrayed  to  the 
grandeur  of  the  scenery  she  loved.  Ultimately  she  fancied 
the  miniature  had  been  overlooked  in  his  hurry  to  dress, 
and  that  he  was  now  merely  excited  by  his  lively  gallop  to 
a  certain  degree  of  hard  brightness  noticeable  in  hunting 
men  at  their  dinner. 

The  eUxir  in  Patrick  carried  him  higher  than  mountain 
crests.  Adiante  illumined  an  expanded  world  for  him, 
miraculous,  yet  the  real  one,  only  wanting  such  light  to 
show  its  riches.  She  lifted  it  out  of  darkness  with  swift 
throbs  of  her  heavenliness  as  she  swam  to  his  eyelids, 
vanished  and  dazzled  anew,  and  made  these  gleams  of  her 
and  the  dark  intervals  his  dream  of  the  winged  earth  on 
her  flight  from  splendour  to  splendour,  secresy  to  secresy; 
—  follow  you  that  can,  the  youth  whose  heart  is  an  opened 
mine,  whose  head  is  an  irradiated  sky,  under  the  spell  of 
imagined  magical  beauty.  She  was  bugle,  banner,  sun- 
rise, of  his  inmost  ambition  and  rapture. 

And  without  a  warning,  she  fled ;  her  features  were  lost ; 
his  power  of  imagining  them  wrestled  with  vapour;  the 
effort  contracted  his  outlook.  But  if  she  left  him  blind  of 
her,  she  left  him  with  no  lessened  bigness  of  heart.  He 
frankly  believed  in  her  revelation  of  a  greater  world  and  a 
livelier  earth,  a  flying  earth  and  a  world  wealthier  than 


62  CELT  AND  SAXON 

grouped  history  in  heroic  marvels:  he  fell  back  on  the 
exultation  of  his  having  seen  her,  and  on  the  hope  for  the 
speedy  coming  of  midnight,  when  the  fountain  of  her  in  the 
miniature  would  be  seen  and  drunk  of  at  his  full  leisure, 
and  his  glorious  elation  of  thrice  man  almost  up  to  mount- 
ing spirit  would  be  restored  to  make  him  worthy  of  the 
^^sion. 

Meanwhile  Caroline  had  withdrawn  and  the  lord  of 
Earlsfont  was  fretting  at  his  theme.  He  had  decided  not 
to  be  a  party  in  the  sale  of  either  of  his  daughter's  estates: 
let  her  choose  other  agents:  if  the  iniquity  was  committed, 
his  hands  would  be  clean  of  it.  Mr.  Adister  spoke  by  way 
of  prelude  to  the  sketch  of  "this  prince"  whose  title  was  a 
lurid  delusion.  Patrick  heard  of  a  sexagenarian  rake  and 
Danube  adventurer,  in  person  a  description  of  falcon- 
Caliban,  containing  his  shagginess  in  a  frogged  hussar- 
jacket  and  crimson  pantaloons,  with  hook-nose,  fox-eyes, 
grizzled  billow  of  frowsy  moustache,  and  chin  of  a  beast 
of  prey.  This  fellow,  habitually  one  of  the  dogs  Hning  the 
green  tables  of  the  foreign  Baths,  snapping  for  gold  all  day 
and  half  the  night,  to  spend  their  winnings  in  debauchery 
and  howl  threats  of  suicide,  never  fulfilled  early  enough, 
when  they  lost,  claimed  his  princedom  on  the  strength  of 
his  father's  murder  of  a  reigning  prince  and  sitting  in  his 
place  for  six  months,  till  a  merited  shot  from  another  pre- 
tender sent  him  to  his  account.  "What  do  you  say  to  such 
a  nest  of  assassins,  and  one  of  them,  an  outcast  and  black- 
leg, asking  an  Enghsh  gentleman  to  acknowledge  him  as  a 


'  THE  MINIATURE  63 

member  of  his  family  1  I  have,"  said  Mr,  Adister,  "direct 
information  that  this  gibbet-bird  is  conspiring  to  dethrone 
—  they  call  it  —  the  present  reigning  prince,  and  the  pro- 
ceeds of  my  daughter's  estates  are,  by  her  desire  —  if  she 
has  not  written  under  compulsion  of  the  scoundrel  —  in- 
tended to  speed  their  blood-mongering.  There  goes  a 
Welshwoman's  legacy  to  the  sea,  with  a  herd  of  swine  with 
devils  in  them!" 

Mr.  Camminy  kept  his  head  bent,  his  hand  on  his  glass 
of  port.  Patrick  stared,  and  the  working  of  his  troubled 
brows  gave  the  unhappy  gentleman  such  lean  comfort  as 
he  was  capable  of  taking.  Patrick  in  sooth  was  engaged 
in  the  hard  attempt  at  the  same  time  to  do  two  of  the  most 
diflBcult  things  which  can  be  proposed  to  the  ingenuity  of 
sensational  youth:  he  was  trying  to  excuse  a  respected 
senior  for  conduct  that  he  could  not  approve,  while  he  did 
inward  battle  to  reconcile  his  feeUngs  with  the  frightful 
addition  to  his  hoard  of  knowledge:  in  other  words,  he 
sought  strenuously  to  mix  the  sketch  of  the  prince  with  the 
dregs  of  the  eUxdr  coming  from  the  portrait  of  Adiante ;  and 
now  she  sank  into  obscurity  behind  the  blackest  of  brushes, 
representing  her  incredible  husband;  and  now  by  force 
of  some  natural  light  she  broke  through  the  ugly  mist  and 
gave  her  adored  the  sweet  lines  and  colours  of  the  features 
he  had  lost.  There  was  an  ebb  and  flow  of  the  struggle, 
until,  able  to  say  to  himself  that  he  saw  her  clearly  as 
though  the  portrait  was  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  the  battle 
of  the  imagination  ceased  and  she  was  fairer  for  him  than 


64  CELT  AND   SAXON 

if  her  foot  had  continued  pure  of  its  erratic  step:  fairer, 
owing  to  the  eyes  he  saw  with;  he  had  shaken  himself 
free  of  the  exacting  senses  which  consent  to  the  worship  of 
women  upon  the  condition  of  their  possessing  all  the  pre- 
cious and  the  miraculous  qualities;  among  others,  the  gift 
of  an  exquisite  fragility  that  cannot  break ;  —  in  short, 
upon  terms  flattering  to  the  individual  devotee.  Without 
knowing  it  he  had  done  it  and  got  some  of  the  upholding 
strength  of  those  noblest  of  honest  men  who  not  merely 
give  souls  to  women  —  an  extraordinary  endowment  of 
them  —  but  also  discourse  to  them  with  their  souls. 

Patrick  accepted  Adiante's  husband:  the  man  was  her 
husband.  Hideous  (for  there  was  no  combating  her  fa- 
ther's painting  of  him),  he  was  almost  interesting  through 
his  alliance:  —  an  example  of  how  much  earth  the  wor- 
shipper can  swallow  when  he  is  quite  sincere.  Instead  of 
his  going  under  eclipse,  the  beauty  of  his  lady  eclipsed  her 
monster.  He  believed  in  her  right  to  choose  according  to 
her  pleasure  since  her  lover  was  denied  her.  Sitting  alone 
by  his  fire,  he  gazed  at  her  for  hours  and  bled  for  Philip. 
There  was  a  riddle  to  be  answered  in  her  cutting  herself 
away  from  Philip;  he  could  not  answer  it;  her  face  was  the 
vindication  and  the  grief.  The  usual  traverses  besetting 
true  lovers  were  suggested  to  him,  enemies  and  slanders 
and  intercepted  letters.  He  rejected  them  in  the  presence 
of  the  beautiful  inscrutable.  Small  marvel  that  Philip  had 
loved  her.  "  Poor  fellow ! "  Patrick  cried  aloud,  and  drooped 
on  a  fit  of  tears. 


THE  MINIATURE  65 

The  sleep  he  had  was  urgently  dream-ridden  to  goals 
that  eluded  him  and  broadened  to  fresh  races  and  chases 
waving  something  to  be  won  which  never  was  won,  albeit 
untiringly  pursued  amid  a  series  of  adventures,  tragic 
episodes,  wild  enthusiasm.  The  whole  of  it  was  feature- 
less, a  shifting  agitation;  yet  he  must  have  been  endowed 
to  extricate  a  particular  meaning  apphed  to  himself  out  of 
the  mass  of  tumbled  events,  and  closely  in  relation  to 
reaUties,  for  he  quitted  his  bed  passionately  regretting  that 
he  had  not  gone  through  a  course  of  drill  and  study  of  the 
mihtary  art.  He  remembered  Mr.  Adister's  having  said 
that  military  training  was  good  for  all  gentlemen. 

"I  could  join  the  French  Foreign  Legion,"  he  thought. 

Adiante  was  as  beautiful  by  day  as  by  night.  He  looked. 
The  riddle  of  her  was  more  burdensome  in  the  daylight. 

He  sighed,  and  on  another  surging  of  his  admiration 
launched  the  resolve  that  he  would  serve  her  blindly,  with- 
out one  question.  How,  when,  where,  and  the  means  and 
the  aim,  he  did  not  think  of.  There  was  she,  and  here  was 
he,  and  heaven  and  a  great  heart  would  show  the  way. 

Adiante  at  eighteen,  the  full-length  of  her,  fresh  in  her 
love  of  Philip,  was  not  the  same  person  to  him,  she  had 
not  the  same  secret;  she  was  beautiful  differently.  By 
right  he  should  have  loved  the  portrait  best:  but  he  had 
not  seen  it  first;  he  had  already  lived  tlirough  a  life  of 
emotions  with  the  miniature,  and  could  besides  clasp  the 
frame;  and  moreover  he  fondled  an  absurd  notion  that  the 
miniature  would  be  entrusted  to  him  for  a  time,  and  was 


66  CELT  AND  SAXON 

almost  a  possession.  The  pain  of  the  thought  of  relinquish- 
ing it  was  the  origin  of  this  fooHshness.  And  again,  if  it 
be  fair  to  prove  him  so  deeply,  true  to  his  brother  though 
he  was  (admiration  of  a  woman  does  thus  influence  the 
tides  of  our  blood  to  render  the  noblest  of  us  guilty  of  some 
unconscious  wavering  of  our  loyalty),  Patrick  dedicated 
the  full-length  of  Adiante  to  Philip,  and  reserved  the  other, 
her  face  and  neck,  for  himself. 

Obediently  to  Mr.  Adister's  order,  the  portrait  had  been 
taken  from  one  of  his  private  rooms  and  placed  in  the 
armoury,  the  veil  covering  the  canvas  of  late  removed. 
Guns  and  spears  and  swords  overhead  and  about,  the 
youthful  figure  of  Adiante  was  ominously  encompassed. 
Caroline  stood  with  Patrick  before  the  portrait  of  her 
cousin;  she  expected  him  to  show  a  sign  of  appreciation. 
He  asked  her  to  tell  him  the  Church  whose  forms  of  faith 
the  princess  had  embraced.  She  answered  that  it  was  the 
Greek  Church.  "The  Greek,"  said  he,  gazing  harder  at 
the  portrait.  Presently  she  said:  "It  was  a  perfect  like- 
ness." She  named  the  famous  artist  who  had  painted  it. 
Patrick's  "Ah"  was  unsatisfactory. 

"We,"  said  she,  "think  it  a  Uving  image  of  her  as  she 
was  then." 

He  would  not  be  instigated  to  speak. 

"You  do  not  admire  it,  Mr.  O'Donnell?"  she  cried. 

"Oh,  but  I  do.  That's  how  she  looked  when  she  was 
drawing  on  her  gloves  with  goodwill  to  go  out  to  meet  him. 
You  can't  see  her  there  and  not  be  sure  she  had  a  heart. 


THE  MINIATURE  67 

She  part  smiles;  she  keeps  her  mouth  shut,  but  there's  the 
dimple,  and  it  means  a  thought,  like  a  bubble  bursting  up* 
from  the  heart  in  her  breast.  She's  tall.  She  carries; 
herself  like  a  great  French  lady,  and  nothing  beats  that^ 
It's  the  same  colour,  dark  eyebrows  and  fair  hair.  Andi 
not  thinking  of  her  pride.  She  thinks  of  her  walk,  and  the 
end  of  it,  where  he's  waiting.    The  eyes  are  not  the  same."' 

"The  same?"  said  Caroline. 

"As  this."  He  tapped  on  the  left  side.  She  did  not 
understand  it  at  all. 

"The  bit  of  work  done  in  Vienna,"  said  he. 

She  blushed.     "Do  you  admire  that  so  much?" 

"I  do." 

"We  consider  it  not  to  be  compared  to  this." 

"Perhaps  not.     I  like  it  better." 

"But  why  do  you  like  that  better?"  said  Caroline, 
deeming  it  his  wilfulness. 

Patrick  put  out  a  finger.  "The  eyes  there  don't  seem 
to  say,  'I'm  yours  to  make  a  hero  of  you.'  But  look," 
he  drew  forth  from  under  his  waistcoat  the  miniature, 
"what  don't  they  say  here!  It's  a  bright  day  for  the  Aus- 
trian capital  that  has  her  by  the  river  Danube.  Yours 
has  a  landscape;  I've  made  acquaintance  with  the  country, 
I  caught  the  print  of  it  on  my  ride  yesterday;  and  those 
are  your  mountains.  But  mine  has  her  all  to  herself  while 
she's  thinking  undisturbed  in  her  boudoir.  I  have  her 
and  her  thoughts:  that's  next  to  her  soul.  I've  an  idea 
it  ought  to  be  given  to  Philip."     He  craned  his  head  round 


68  CELT  AND  SAXON 

to  WOO  some  shadow  of  assent  to  the  daring  suggestion. 
"Just  to  break  the  shock  'twill  be  to  my  brother,  Miss 
Adister.  If  I  could  hand  him  this,  and  say,  'Keep  it,  for 
you'll  get  nothing  more  of  her;  and  that's  worth  a  king- 
dom.'" 

Caroline  faltered :     "Your  brother  does  not  know  ? " 

■"Pity  him.  His  blow's  to  come.  He  can't  or  he'd  have 
spoken  of  it  to  me.  I  was  with  him  a  couple  of  hours  and 
he  never  mentioned  a  word  of  it,  nor  did  Captain  Con. 
We  talked  of  Ireland,  and  the  service,  and  some  French 
cousins  we  have." 

"Ladies?"  Caroline  inquired  by  instinct. 

"And  charming,"  said  Patrick,  "real  dear  girls.  Philip 
might  have  one,  if  he  would,  and  half  my  property,  to  make 
it  right  with  her  parents.  There'd  be  little  use  in  proposing 
it.  He  was  dead  struck  when  the  shaft  struck  him. 
That's  love!  So  I  determined  the  night  after  I'd  shaken 
his  hand  I'd  be  off  to  Earlsfont  and  try  my  hardest  for  him. 
It's  hopeless  now.  Only  he  might  have  the  miniature  for 
his  bride.  I  can  tell  him  a  trifle  to  help  him  over  his  agony. 
She  would  have  had  him,  she  would,  ^Nliss  Adister,  if  she 
hadn't  feared  he'd  be  talked  of  i\s  Captain  Con  has  been 
—  about  the  neighbourhood,  I  mean,  because  he,"  Patrick 
added  hurriedly,  "he  married  an  heiress  and  sank  his 
ambition  for  distinction  Uke  a  man  who  has  finished  his 
dinner.     I'm  certain  she  would.     I  have  it  on  authority." 

"What  authority?"  said  Caroline  coldly. 

"Her  own  old  nurse." 


THE  MINIATURE  69 

"Jenny  Williams?" 

"The  one!  I  had  it  from  her.  And  how  she  loves  her 
darling  Miss  Adiante!  She  won't  hear  of 'princess.'  She 
hates  that  marriage.  She  was  all  for  my  brother  Philip. 
She  calls  him  'Our  handsome  Heutenant.'  She'll  keep  the 
poor  fellow  a  subaltern  all  his  life." 

"You  went  to  Jenny's  inn?" 

"The  Earlsfont  Arms,  I  went  to.  And  Mrs.  Jenny  at 
the  door,  watching  the  rain.  Destiny  directed  me.  She 
caught  the  likeness  to  Philip  on  a  lift  of  her  eye,  and  very 
soon  we  sat  conversing  like  old  friends.  We  were  soon 
playing  at  old  cronies  over  past  times.  I  saw  the  way  to 
bring  her  out,  so  I  set  to  work,  and  she  was  up  in  defence 
of  her  darling,  ready  to  tell  me  anything  to  get  me  to  think 
well  of  her.  And  that  was  the  main  reason,  she  said,  why 
Miss  Adiante  broke  with  him  and  went  abroad :  her  dear 
child  wouldn't  have  ^Ir.  Philip  abused  for  fortune-hunting. 
As  for  the  religion,  they  could  each  have  practised  their 
own:  her  father  would  have  consented  to  the  pact,  when  it 
came  on  him  in  that  undeniable  shape  of  two  made  one. 
She  says,  ^liss  Adiante  has  a  mighty  soul;  she  has  brave 
ideas.  Miss  Deenly,  she  calls  her.  Ay,  and  so  has  Philip: 
though  the  worst  is,  they're  likely  to  drive  him  out  of  the 
army  into  politics  and  Parliament;  and  an  Irishman  there 
is  a  barrow  trolling  a  load  of  grievances.  Ah,  but  she 
would  have  kept  him  straight.  Not  a  soldier  alive  knows 
the  use  of  cavalry  better  than  my  brother.  He  wanted  just 
that  English  wife  to  steady  him  and  pour  drops  of  universal 


70  CELT  AND  SAXON 

fire  into  him;  to  keep  him  face  to  face  with  the  world,  1 
mean;  letting  him  be  true  to  his  country  in  a  fair  degree, 
hut  not  an  old  rainpipe  and  spout.  She  would  have  held 
him  to  his  profession.  And,  Oh  dear!  She's  a  friend 
worth  having,  lost  to  Ireland.  I  see  what  she  could  have 
done  there.  Something  bigger  than  an  island,  too,  has  to 
be  served  in  our  days:  that  is,  if  we  don't  forget  our  duty 
at  home.  Poor  Paddy,  and  his  pig,  and  his  bit  of  earth! 
If  you  knew  what  we  feel  for  him!  I'm  a  landlord,  but 
I'm  one  with  my  people  about  evictions.  We  Irish  take 
strong  root.  And  honest  rent  paid  over  to  absentees, 
through  an  agent,  if  you  think  of  it,  seems  like  flinging  the 
money  that's  the  sweat  of  the  brow  into  a  stone  conduit  to 
roll  away  to  a  giant  maw  hungry  as  the  sea.  It's  the 
bleeding  to  death  of  our  land!  Transactions  from  hand  to 
iiand  of  warm  human  flesh  —  nothing  else  will  do:  I 
mean,  for  men  of  our  blood.  Ah!  she  would  have  kept 
my  brother  temperate  in  his  notions  and  his  plans.  And 
why  absentees.  Miss  Adister?  Because  we've  no  centre  of 
home  hfe:  the  core  has  been  taken  out  of  us;  our  country 
has  no  hearth-fire.  I'm  for  union;  only  there  should  be 
justice,  and  a  little  knowledge  to  make  allowance  for  the 
natural  cravings  of  a  different  kind  of  people.  Well,  then, 
and  I  suppo.se  that  inter-marriages  are  good  for  both.  But 
here  comes  a  man,  the  boldest  and  handsomest  of  his  race, 
and  he  offers  himself  to  the  handsomest  and  sweetest  of 
vours,  and  she  leans  to  him,  and  the  family  won't  have  him. 
For  he's  an  Irishman  and  a  Catholic.     Who  is  it  then 


THE  MINIATURE  71 

opposed  the  proper  union  of  the  two  islands  ?  Not  Philip. 
He  did  his  best;  and  if  he  does  worse  now  he's  not  entirely 
to  blame.  The  misfortune  is,  that  when  he  learns  the 
total  loss  of  her  on  that  rock -promontory,  he'll  be  dashing 
himself  upon  rocks  sure  to  shiver  him.  There's  my  fear. 
If  I  might  take  him  this  ...  ?"  Patrick  pleaded  with 
the  miniature  raised  like  the  figure  of  his  interrogation. 

Caroline's  inward  smile  threw  a  soft  light  of  humour 
over  her  features  at  the  simple  cunning  of  his  wind-up  to 
the  lecture  on  his  country's  case,  which  led  her  to  perceive 
a  similar  cunning  simplicity  in  his  identification  of  it  with 
Philip's.  It  startled  her  to  surprise,  for  the  reason  that 
she'd  been  reviewing  his  freakish  hops  from  Philip  to 
Ireland  and  to  Adiante,  and  wondering,  in  a  different  kind 
of  surprise,  how  and  by  what  profitless  ingenuity  he  con- 
trived to  weave  them  together.  Nor  was  she  unmoved, 
notwithstanding  her  fancied  perception  of  his  Jesuitry:  his 
look  and  his  voice  were  persuasive;  his  love  of  his  brother 
was  deep;  his  change  of  sentiment  toward  Adiante  after 
the  tale  told  him  by  her  old  nurse  Jenny,  stood  for  proof 
of  a  generous  manliness. 

Before  she  had  replied,  her  uncle  entered  the  armoury, 
and  Patrick  was  pleading  still,  and  she  felt  herself  to  be  a 
piece  of  damask,  a  very  fiery  dye. 

To  disentangle  herself,  she  said  on  an  impulse,  desper- 
ately : 

"Mr.  O'Donnell  begs  to  have  the  miniature  for  his 
brother." 


72  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Patrick  swung  instantly  to  Mr.  Adister,  "I  presumed 
to  ask  for  it,  sir,  to  carry  it  to  Philip.  He  is  ignorant  about 
the  princess  as  yet:  he  would  like  to  have  a  bit  of  the  wreck. 
I  shan't  be  a  pleasant  messenger  to  him.  I  should  be  glad 
to  take  him  something.  It  could  be  returned  after  a  time. 
She  was  a  great  deal  to  Philip  —  three  parts  of  his  life. 
He  has  nothing  of  her  to  call  his  own." 

"Thatl"  said  Mr.  Adister.  He  turned  to  the  virgin 
Adiante,  sat  down  and  shut  his  eyes,  fetching  a  breath. 
He  looked  vacantly  at  Patrick. 

"When  you  find  a  man  purely  destructive,  you  think 
him  a  devil,  don't  you  ?"  he  said. 

"A  good  first  cousin  to  one,"  Patrick  repUed,  watchful 
for  a  hint  to  seize  the  connection. 

"If  you  think  of  hunting  to-day,  we  have  not  many 
minutes  to  spare  before  we  mount.  The  meet  is  at  eleven, 
five  miles  distant.  Go  and  choose  your  horse.  Caroline 
will  drive  there." 

Patrick  consulted  her  on  a  glance  for  counsel.  "I  shall 
be  glad  to  join  you,  sir,  for  to-morrow  I  must  be  off  to  my 
brother." 

"Take  it,"  Mr.  Adister  waved  his  hand  hastily.  He 
gazed  at  his  idol  of  untouched  eighteen.  "Keep  it  safe," 
he  said,  discarding  the  sight  of  the  princess.  "Old  houses 
are  doomed  to  burnings,  and  a  devil  in  the  family  may 
bring  us  to  ashes.  And  some  day  .  .  .  !"  he  could  not 
continue  his  thought  upon  what  he  might  be  destined  to 
wish  for,  and  ran  it  on  to,  "Some  day  I  shall  be  liapjr/ 


THE  MINIATURE  /3 

to  welcome  your  brother,  when  it  pleases  him  to  visit 
me. 

Patrick  bowed,  oppressed  by  the  mighty  gift.  "I 
haven't  the  word  to  thank  you  with,  sir." 

Mr,  Adister  did  not  wait  for  it. 

"I  owe  this  to  you,  Miss  Adister,"  said  Patrick. 

Her  voice  shook:  "My  uncle  loves  those  who  loved 
her." 

He  could  see  she  was  trembling.  When  he  was  alone 
his  ardour  of  gratefulness  enabled  him  to  see  into  her 
uncle's  breast:  the  inflexible  frigidity;  lasting  regrets  and 
remorse;  the  compassion  for  Philip  in  kinship  of  grief  and 
loss;  the  angry  dignity;  the  stately  generosity. 

He  saw  too,  for  he  was  clear-eyed  when  his  feelings  were 
not  over-active,  the  narrow  pedestal  whereon  the  stiff 
figure  of  a  man  of  iron  pride  must  accommodate  itself  to 
stand  in  despite  of  tempests  without  and  within ;  and  how 
the  statue  rocks  there,  how  much  more  pitiably  than  the 
common  sons  of  earth  who  have  the  broad  common  field 
to  fall  down  on  and  our  good  mother's  milk  to  set  them  on 
their  legs  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CAPTAIN   CON   AND   MRS.    ADISTER   o'dONNELL 

Riding  homeward  from  the  hunt  at  the  leisurely  trot  of 
men  who  have  steamed  their  mounts  pretty  well,  Mr. 
Adister  questioned  Patrick  familiarly  about  his  family,  and 
his  estate,  and  his  brother's  prospects  in  the  army,  and 
whither  he  intended  first  to  direct  his  travels:  questions 
which  Patrick  understood  to  be  kindly  put  for  the  sake  of 
promoting  conversation  with  a  companion  of  unripe  age 
by  a  gentleman  who  had  wholesomely  excited  his  blood  to 
run.  They  were  answered,  except  the  last  one.  Patrick 
had  no  immediate  destination  in  view. 

"Leave  Europe  behind  you,"  said  Mr.  Adister  warming, 
to  advise  him,  and  checking  the  trot  of  his  horse.  "Try 
South  America."  The  lordly  gentleman  plotted  out  a 
scheme  of  colonisation  and  conquest  in  that  region  with 
the  coolness  of  a  practised  freebooter.  "No  young  man  is 
worth  a  job,"  he  said,  "who  does  not  mean  to  be  a  leader, 
and  as  leader  to  liave  dominion.  Here  we  are  fettered  by 
ancestry  and  antecedents.  Had  I  to  recommence  without 
those  encumbrances,  I  would  tr}'  my  fortune  yonder.  I 
stood  condemned  to  waste  my  youth  in  idle  parades,  and 
hunting  the  bear  and  buffalo.     The  estate  you  have  in- 

74 


CAPTAIN  CON  AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  75 

herited  is  not  binding  on  you.  You  can  realise  it,  and 
begin  by  taking  over  two  or  three  hundred  picked  Irish 
and  English  —  have  both  races  capable  of  handling  spade 
and  musket;  purchasing  some  thousands  of  acres  to  estab- 
lish a  legal  footing  there.  You  increase  your  colony  from 
the  mother  country  in  the  ratio  of  your  prosperity,  until 
your  power  is  respected,  and  there  is  a  necessity  for  the 
extension  of  your  territory.  When  you  are  feared  you  will 
be  on  your  mettle.  They  will  favour  you  with  provocation. 
I  should  not  doubt  the  result,  supposing  myself  to  have 
under  my  sole  command  a  trained  body  of  men  of  English 
blood  —  and  Irish." 

"Owners  of  the  soil,"  rejoined  Patrick,  much  marvelling. 

"Undoubtedly,  owners  of  the  soil,  but  owing  you  ser- 
vice." 

"They  fight,  sir." 

"It  is  hardly  to  be  specified  in  the  calculation,  knowing 
them.  Soldiers  who  have  served  their  term,  particularly 
old  artillerjTiien,  would  be  my  choice:  young  fellows  and 
boys  among  them.  Women  would  have  to  be  i^kcn. 
Half-breeds  are  the  ruin  of  colonists.  Our  men  are  born 
for  conquest.  We  were  conquerors  here,  and  it  is  wanl 
of  action  and  going  physically  forward  that  makes  us  a 
rusty  people.  There  are"  —  Mr.  Adister's  intonation  told 
of  his  proposing  a  wretched  alternative,  —  "the  Pacific 
Islands,  but  they  will  soon  be  snapped  up  by  the  European 
and  North  American  Governments,  and  a  single  one  of 
them  does  not  offer  space.     It  would  reauire  money  and  a 


76  CELT  AND  SAXON 

navy."  He  mused.  "South  America  is  the  quarter  I 
should  decide  for,  as  a  young  man.  You  are  a  judge  of 
horses;  you  ride  well;  you  would  have  splendid  pastures 
over  there;  you  might  raise  a  famous  breed.  The  air  is 
fine;  it  would  suit  our  English  stock.  We  are  on  ground, 
Mr.  O'Donnell,  which  my  forefathers  contested  sharply 
and  did  not  yield." 

"The  owners  of  the  soil  had  to  do  that,"  said  Patrick. 
'I  can  show  the  same  in  my  country,  with  a  difference." 

"Considerably  to  your  benefit." 

"Everything  has  been  crushed  there  barring  the  con- 
trary opinion." 

"I  could  e.vpect  such  a  remark  from  a  rebel." 

"I'm  only  interpreting  the  people,  sir." 

"Jump  out  of  that  tinder-box  as  soon  as  you  can. 
When  I  was  in  South  America,  it  astonished  me  that  no 
Englishman  had  cast  an  eye  on  so  inviting  a  land.  Aus- 
tralia is  not  comparable  with  it.  And  where  colonisations 
have  begun  without  system,  and  without  hard  fighting  to 
teach  the  settlers  to  value  good  leadership  and  respect 
their  chiefs,  they  tumble  into  Republics." 

Patrick  would  have  liked  to  fling  in  a  word  about  the 
Englishman's  cast  of  his  eye  upon  inviting  lands,  but  the 
trot  was  resumed,  the  lord  of  Earlsfont  having  delivered 
his  mind,  and  a  minute  made  it  happily  too  late  for  the 
sarcastic  bolt.  Glad  that  his  tongue  had  been  kept  from 
wagging,  he  trotted  along  beside  his  host  in  the  dusky 
evening  over  the  once  contested  land  where  the  gentleman's 


CAPTAIN   CON   AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  77 

forefathers  had  done  their  deeds  and  firmly  fixed  their 
descendants.  A  remainder  of  dull  red  fire  prolonged  the 
half-day  above  the  mountain  strongholds  of  the  former 
owners  of  the  soil,  upon  which  prince  and  bard  and  priest 
and  grappling  natives  never  wanting  for  fierceness,  roared 
to-arms  in  the  beacon-flames  from  ridge  to  peak:  and 
down  they  poured,  and  back  they  were  pushed  by  the  in- 
veterate coloniser  —  stationing  at  threatened  points  his 
old  "artillerymen"  of  those  days:  and  so  it  ends,  that  bard 
and  priest  and  prince;  holy  poetry,  and  divine  prescription, 
and  a  righteous  holding;  are  as  naught  against  him.  They 
go,  like  yonder  embers  of  the  winter  sunset  before  advan- 
cing night:  and  to-morrow  the  beacon-heaps  are  ashes,  the 
conqueror's  foot  stamps  on  them,  the  wind  scatters  them; 
strangest  of  all,  you  hear  victorious  lawlessness  appealing 
solemnly  to  God  the  law. 

Patrick  was  too  young  to  philosophise  upon  his  ideas; 
or  else  the  series  of  pictures  projected  by  the  troops  of  sen- 
sations running  through  him  were  not  of  a  solidity  to  sup- 
port any  structure  of  philosophy.  He  reverted,  though 
rather  in  name  than  in  spirit,  to  the  abstractions,  justice, 
consistency,  right.  They  were  too  hard  to  think  of,  so  he 
abandoned  the  puzzle  of  fitting  them  to  men's  acts  and 
their  consciences,  and  he  put  them  aside  as  mere  titles 
employed  for  the  uses  of  a  police  and  a  tribunal  to  lend  an 
appearance  of  legitimacy  to  the  decrees  of  them  that  have 
got  the  upper  hand.  An  insurrectionary  rising  of  his 
breast  on  behalf  of  his  country  was  the  consequence.     He 


78  CELT  AND  SAXON 

kept  it  down  by  turning  the  whole  hubbub  within  him 
to  the  practical  contemplation  of  a  visionary  South  America 
as  the  region  for  him  and  a  fighting  tenantry.  With  a 
woman,  to  crown  her  queen  there,  the  prospect  was  fair. 
But  where  dwelt  the  woman  possessing  majesty  suitable 
to  such  a  dream  in  her  heart  or  her  head  ?  The  best  he 
had  known  in  Ireland  and  in  France,  preferred  the  charms 
of  society  to  bold  adventure. 

All  the  same,  thought  he,  it's  queer  counsel,  that  we 
should  set  to  work  by  buying  a  bit  of  land  to  win  a  clean 
footing  to  rob  our  neighbours:  and  his  brains  took  another 
shot  at  Mr.  Adister,  this  time  without  penetrating.  He 
could  very  well  have  seen  the  matter  he  disliked  in  a  man 
that  he  disliked;  but  the  father  of  Adiante  had  touched 
him  with  the  gift  of  the  miniature. 

Patrick  was  not  asked  to  postpone  his  departure  from 
Earlsfont,  nor  was  he  invited  to  come  again.  ]\Ir.  Adister 
drove  him  to  the  station  in  the  early  m.orning,  and  gave  him 
a  single  nod  from  the  phaeton-box  for  a  good-bye.  Had 
not  Caroline  assured  him  at  the  leave-taking  between  them 
that  he  had  done  her  uncle  great  good  by  his  visit,  the 
blank  of  the  usual  ceremonial  phrases  would  have  caused 
him  to  fancy  himself  an  intruder  courteously  dismissed, 
never  more  to  enter  the  grand  old  Hall.  He  was  further 
comforted  by  hearing  the  station-master's  exclamation  of 
astonishment  and  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  tiie  squire  "in 
his  place"  handling  the  reins,  which  had  not  been  witnessed 
for  many  a  day:   and  so  it  appeared  that  the  recent  guest 


I  CAPTAIN  CON  AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  79 

had  been  exceptionally  complimented.  "But  why  not  a 
warm  word,  instead  of  turning  me  off  to  decipher  a  bit  of 
Egyptian  on  baked  brick,"  he  thought,  incurably  Celtic  as 
he  was. 

From  the  moment  when  he  beheld  Mr.  Adister's  phaeton 
mounting  a  hill  that  took  the  first  leap  for  the  Cambrian 
highlands,  up  to  his  arrival  in  London,  scarcely  one  of  his 
"ideas"  darted  out  before  Patrick,  as  they  were  in  the  habit 
of  doing,  like  the  enchanted  hares  of  fairyland,  tempting 
him  to  pursue,  and  changing  into  the  form  of  woman  ever, 
at  some  turn  of  the  chase.  For  as  he  had  travelled  down 
to  Earlsfont  in  the  state  of  ignorance  and  hopefulness, 
bearing  the  liquid  brains  of  that  young  condition,  so  did  his 
acquisition  of  a  particular  fact  destructive  of  hope  solidify 
them  about  it  as  he  travelled  back:  in  other  words,  they 
were  digesting  what  they  had  taken  in.  Imagination 
would  not  have  stirred  for  a  thousand  fleeting  hares:  and 
principally,  it  may  be,  because  he  was  conscious  that  no 
form  of  woman  would  anywhere  come  of  them.  Woman 
was  married;  she  had  the  ring  on  her  finger!  He  could 
at  his  option  look  on  her  in  the  miniature,  he  could  think 
of  her  as  being  in  the  city  where  she  had  been  painted;  but 
he  could  not  conjure  her  out  of  space;  she  was  nowhere  in 
the  ambient  air.  Secretly  she  was  a  feeling  that  lay  half  slum- 
bering very  deep  down  within  him,  and  he  kept  the  secret, 
choosing  to  be  poor  rather  tlian  call  her  forth.  He  was  in 
truth  digesting  with  difficulty,  as  must  be  the  case  when 
it  is  allotted  to  the  brains  to  absorb  what  the  soul  abhors. 


80  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"Poor  old  Philip!"  was  his  perpetual  refrain.  —  "Philip, 
the  girl  you  love  is  married;  and  here's  her  portrait  taken 
in  her  last  blush;  and  the  man  who  has  her  hasn't  a  share 
in  that!"  Thus,  throwing  in  the  ghost  of  a  sigh  for  sym- 
pathy, it  seemed  to  Patrick  that  the  intelligence  would  have 
to  be  communicated.  Bang  is  better,  thought  he,  for  bad 
news  than  snapping  fire  and  feinting,  when  you're  bound 
half  to  kill  a  fellow,  and  a  manly  fellow. 

Determined  that  bang  it  should  be,  he  hurried  from  the 
terminus  to  Philip's  hotel,  where  he  had  left  him,  and  was 
thence  despatched  to  the  house  of  Captain  Con  O'Donnell, 
where  he  created  a  joyful  confusion,  slightly  dashed  with 
rigour  on  the  part  of  the  regnant  lady;  which  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  considering  that  both  the  gentlemen  attending 
her,  Philip  and  her  husband,  quitted  her  table  with  shouts 
at  the  announcement  of  his  name,  and  her  husband  hauled 
him  in  unwashed  before  her,  crying  that  the  lost  was  found, 
the  errant  returned,  the  Prodigal  Pat  recovered  by  his 
kinsman!  and  she  had  to  submit  to  the  introduction  of  the 
disturber:  and  a  bedchamber  had  to  be  thought  of  for  the 
unexpected  guest,  and  the  dinner  to  be  delayed  in  middle 
course,  and  her  husband  corrected  between  the  discussions 
concerning  the  bedchamber,  and  either  tlie  guest  permitted 
to  appear  at  her  table  in  sooty  day-garb,  or  else  a  great 
gap  commanded  in  the  service  of  her  dishes,  vexatious 
extreme  for  a  lady  composed  of  orderliness.  She  acknowl- 
edged Patrick's  profound  salute  and  his  excuses  with  just 
so  many  degrees  in  the  inclining  of  her  head  as  the  polite 


CAPTAIN  CON  AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  81 

deem  a  duty  to  themselves  when  the  ruffling  world  has 
disarranged  them. 

"Con!"  she  called  to  her  chattering  husband,  "we  are  in 
England,  if  you  please." 

"To  be  sure,  madam,"  said  the  captain,  "and  so's 
Patrick,  thanks  to  the  stars.  We  fancied  him  gone,  kid- 
napped, burned,  made  a  meal  of  and  swallowed  up,  under 
the  earth  or  the  water;  for  he  forgot  to  give  us  his  address 
in  town ;  he  stood  before  us  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  then  the 
fellow  vanished.  We've  waited  for  him  gaping.  With 
your  permission  I'll  venture  an  opinion  that  he'll  go  and 
dabble  his  hands  and  sit  with  us  as  he  is,  for  the  once,  a? 
it  happens." 

"Let  it  be  so,"  she  rejoined,  not  pacified  beneath  hei 
dignity.     She  named  the  bedchamber  to  a  footman. 

"And  I'll  accompany  the  boy  to  hurry  him  on,"  said  th< 
captain,  hurrying  Patrick  on  as  he  spoke,  till  he  had  hiro 
out  of  the  dining-room,  when  he  whispered:  "Out  with 
your  key,  and  if  we  can  scramble  you  into  your  evening 
suit  quick  we  shall  heal  the  breach  in  the  dinner.  Yol 
dip  your  hands  and  face,  I'll  have  out  the  dress.  You've-, 
the  right  style  for  her,  my  boy:  and  mind,  she  is  an  excel- 
lent good  woman,  worthy  of  all  respect:  but  formality's 
the  flattery  she  likes :  a  good  bow  and  short  speech.  Here 
we  are,  and  the  room's  lighted.  Off  to  the  basin,  give  me 
the  key;  and  here's  hot  water  in  tripping  Mary's  hands. 
The  portmanteau  opens  easy.  Quick  1  the  door's  shut 
on  rosy  Mary.     The  race  is  for  domestic  peace,  my  boy. 


82  CELT  AND  SAXON 

1  sacrifice  everything  I  can  for  it,  in  decency.  *Tis  the 
secret  of  my  happiness." 

Patrick's  transformation  was  rapid  enough  to  satisfy 
the  impatient  captain,  who  said:  "You'll  tell  her  you 
couldn't  sit  down  in  her  presence  undressed.  I  married 
her  at  forty,  you  know,  when  a  woman  has  reached  her 
perfect  development,  and  leans  a  trifle  more  to  cere- 
monies than  to  substance.  And  where  have  you  been  the 
while?" 

"I'll  tell  you  by  and  by,"  said  Patrick. 

"Tell  me  now,  and  don't  be  smirking  at  the  glass;  your 
necktie's  as  neat  as  a  lady's  company-smile,  equal  at  both 
ends,  and  warranted  not  to  relax  before  the  evening's  over. 
And  mind  you  don't  set  me  off  talking  overmuch  down- 
stairs. I  talk  in  her  presence  like  the  usher  of  the  Court 
to  the  Judge.     'Tis  the  secret  of  my  happiness." 

"Where  are  those  rascally  dress-boots  of  mine!"  cried 
Patrick. 

Captain  Con  pitched  the  contents  of  the  portmanteau 
right  and  left.  "Never  mind  the  boots,  my  boy.  Your 
legs  will  be  under  the  table  during  dinner,  and  we'll  insti- 
tute a  rummage  up  here  between  that  and  the  procession  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  you'll  be  examined  head  to  foot, 
devil  a  doubt  of  it.  But  say,  where  have  you  been  ?  She'll 
be  asking,  and  we're  in  a  mess  already,  and  may  as  well 
have  a  place  to  name  to  her,  somewhere,  to  excuse  the  gash 
you've  made  in  her  dinner.  Here  they  are,  both  of  'm, 
rolled  in  a  dirty  shirt!" 


CAPTAIN  CON  AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  83 

Patrick  seized  the  boots  and  tugged  them  on,  saying: 
"Earisfont,  then." 

"You've  been  visiting  Earisfont?  Whack  I  but  that's 
the  saving  of  us!  Talk  to  her  of  her  brother:  —  he  sends 
her  his  love.  Talk  to  her  of  the  ancestral  hall:  —  it  stands 
as  it  was  on  the  day  of  its  foundation.  Just  wait  about 
five  minutes  to  let  her  punish  us,  before  you  out  with  it. 
'T^'ill  come  best  from  you.  What  did  you  go  down  there 
for?  But  don't  stand  answering  questions;  come  along. 
Don't  heed  her  countenance  at  the  going  in:  we've  got  the 
talisman.  As  to  the  dressing,  it's  a  perfect  trick  of  harle- 
quinade, and  she'll  own  it  after  a  dose  of  Earisfont.  And, 
by  the  way,  she's  not  Mrs.  Con,  remember;  she's  Mrs. 
Adister  O'Donnell:  and  that's  best  rolled  out  to  Mistress. 
She's  a  worthy  woman,  but  she  was  married  at  forty,  and 
I  had  to  take  her  shaped  as  she  was,  for  moulding  her  at 
all  was  out  of  the  question,  and  the  soft  parts  of  me  had 
to  be  the  sufferers,  to  effect  a  conjunction,  for  where  one 
won't  and  can't,  poor  t'other  must,  or  the  union's  a  mock- 
ery. She  was  cast  in  bronze  at  her  birth,  if  she  wasn't  cut 
in  bog-root.  Anyhow,  you'll  study  her.  Consider  her  for 
my  sake.  Madam,  it  should  be  —  madam,  call  her,  ad- 
dressing her,  madam.  She  hasn't  a  taste  for  jokes,  and 
she  chastises  absurdities,  and  England's  the  foremost 
country  of  the  globe,  in  direct  communication  with  heaven, 
and  only  to  be  connected  with  such  a  country  by  the  tail  of 
it  is  a  special  distinction  and  a  comfort  for  us;  we're  that 
part  of  the  kite!  —  but,  Patrick,  she's  a  charitable  soul; 


84  CELT  AND   SAXON 

she's  a  virtuous  woman  and  an  affectionate  wife,  and  doesn't 
frown  to  see  me  turn  off  to  my  place  of  worship  while  she 
drum-majors  it  away  to  her  own;  she  entertains  Father 
Boyle  heartily,  like  the  good  woman  she  is  to  good  men ; 
and  unfortunate  females  too  have  a  friend  in  her,  a  real 
friend  —  that  they  have;  and  that's  a  wonder  in  a  woman 
chaste  as  ice.  I  do  respect  her ;  and  I'd  like  to  see  the  man 
to  favour  me  with  an  opportunity  of  proving  it  on  him! 
So  you'll  not  forget,  my  boy;  and  prepare  for  a  cold  bath 
the  first  five  minutes.  Out  with  Earlsfont  early  after  that. 
All  these  things  are  trifles  to  an  unmarried  man.  I  have 
to  attend  to  'm,  I  have  to  be  politic  and  give  her  elbow- 
'•oom  for  her  natural  angles.  'Tis  the  secret  of  my  hap- 
piness." 

Priming  his  kinsman  thus  up  to  the  door  of  the  dining- 
room,  Captain  Con  thrust  him  in. 

Mistress  Adister  O'Donnell's  head  rounded  as  by  slow 
attraction  to  the  clock.  Her  disciplined  husband  signified 
an  equal  mixture  of  contrition  and  astonishment  at  the 
passing  of  time.  He  fell  to  work  upon  his  plate  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  immediate  policy  dictated  to  him. 

The  unbending  English  lady  contrasted  with  her  husband 
so  signally  that  the  oddly  united  couple  appeared  yoked 
in  a  common  harness  for  a  perpetual  display  of  the  opposi- 
tion of  the  races.  She  resembled  her  brother,  the  lord  of 
Earlsfont,  in  her  remarkable  height  and  her  calm  air  of 
authority  and  self-sustainment.  From  beneath  a  head- 
dress built  of  white  curls  and  costlv  lace,  half  enclosing  her 


CAPTAIN  CON  AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  85 

high  narrow  forehead,  a  pale,  thin,  straight  bridge  of  nose 
descended  prominently  over  her  sunken  cheeks  to  thin 
locked  lips.  Her  aspect  suggested  the  repose  of  a  winter 
landscape,  enjoyable  in  pictures,  or  on  skates,  other^vise 
nipping.  Mental  directness,  of  no  greater  breadth  than 
her  principal  feature,  was  the  character  it  expressed ;  and 
candour  of  spirit  shone  through  the  transparency  she  was, 
if  that  mild  taper  could  be  said  to  shine  in  proof  of  a  vitality 
rarely  notified  to  the  outer  world  by  the  opening  of  her 
mouth;  chiefly  then,  though  not  malevolently  to  command: 
as  the  portal  of  some  snow-bound  monastery  opens  to  the 
outcast,  bidding  it  be  known  that  the  light  across  the  wolds 
was  not  deceptive  and  a  glimmer  of  life  subsists  among  the 
silent  within.  The  life  sufficed  to  her.  She  was  like  a 
marble  effigy  seated  upright,  requiring  but  to  be  laid  at  her 
length  for  transport  to  the  cover  of  the  tomb. 

Now  Captain  Con  was  by  nature  ruddy  as  an  Indian 
summer  flushed  in  all  its  leaves.  The  corners  of  his  face 
had  everywhere  a  frank  ambush,  or  child's  hiding-place, 
for  languages  and  laughter.  He  could  worm  with  a  smile 
quite  his  own  the  humour  out  of  men  possessing  any;  and 
even  under  rigorous  law,  and  it  could  not  be  disputed  that 
there  was  rigour  in  the  beneficent  laws  imposed  upon  him 
by  his  wife,  his  genius  for  humour  and  passion  for  sly  in- 
dependence came  up  and  curled  away  like  the  smoke  of  the 
illicit  still,  wherein  the  fanciful  discern  fine  sprites  indulg- 
ing in  luxurious  grimaces  at  a  government  long-nosed  to 
no  purpose.    Perhaps,  as  Patrick  said  of  him  to  Caroline 


86  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Adister,  he  was  a  bard  without  a  theme.  He  certainly 
was  a  man  of  speech,  and  the  having  fearfully  to  con- 
tain himself  for  the  greater  number  of  the  hours  of  the 
day,  for  the  preservation  of  the  domestic  felicity  he  had 
learnt  to  value,  fathered  the  sentiment  of  revolt  in  his 
bosom. 

By  this  time,  long  after  five  minutes  had  elapsed,  the 
frost  presiding  at  the  table  was  fast  withering  Captain 
Con:  and  he  was  irritable  to  hear  why  Patrick  had  gone 
off  to  Earlsfont,  and  what  he  had  done  there,  and  the  ad- 
ventures he  had  tasted  on  the  road;  anything  for  warmth. 
His  efforts  to  fish  the  word  out  of  Patrick  produced  deeper 
crevasses  in  the  conversation,  and  he  cried  to  himself: 
Hats  and  crape-bands !  mightily  struck  by  an  idea  that  he 
and  his  cousins  were  a  party  of  hired  mourners  over  the 
meat  they  consumed.  Patrick  was  endeavouring  to  spare 
his  brother  a  mention  of  Earlsfont  before  they  had  private 
talk  together.  He  answered  neither  to  a  dip  of  the  hook 
nor  to  a  pull. 

"The  desert  where  you've  come  from's  good,"  said  the 
captain,  sharply  nodding. 

Mrs.  Adister  O'Donnell  ejaculated:  "Wine!"  for  a 
heavy  comment  upon  one  of  his  topics,  and  crushed  it. 

Philip  saw  that  Patrick  had  no  desire  to  spread,  and  did 
not  trouble  him. 

"Good  horses  in  the  stable  too,"  said  the  captain. 

Patrick  addressed  Mrs.  Adister:  "I  have  hardly  ex- 
cused myself  to  you,  madam." 


CAPTAIN  CON  AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  87 

Her  head  was  aloft  in  dumb  apostrophe  of  wearifulness 
over  another  of  her  husband's  topics. 

"Do  not  excuse  yourself  at  all,"  she  said. 

The  captain  shivered.  He  overhauled  his  plotting  soul 
publicly:  "Why  don't  you  out  with  it  yourself!"  and  it 
was  wonderful  why  he  had  not  done  so,  save  that  he  was 
prone  to  petty  conspiracy,  and  had  thought  reasonably  that 
the  revelation  would  be  damp  gunpowder,  coming  from  him. 
And  therein  he  was  right,  for  when  he  added:  "The  boy's 
fresh  from  Earlsfont;  he  went  down  to  look  at  the  brave 
old  house  of  the  Adisters,  and  was  nobly  welcomed  and 
entertained,  and  made  a  vast  impression,"  his  wife  sedately 
remarked  to  Patrick,  "You  have  seen  my  brother  Edward." 

"And  brings  a  message  of  his  love  to  you,  my  dear,"  the 
captain  bit  his  nail  harder. 

"You  have  a  message  for  me?"  she  asked;  and  Patrick 
replied:  "The  captain  is  giving  a  free  translation.  I  was 
down  there,  and  I  took  the  liberty  of  calling  on  Mr.  Adister, 
and  I  had  a  very  kind  reception.  We  hunted,  we  had  a 
good  day  with  the  hounds.  I  think  I  remember  hearing 
that  you  go  there  at  Christmas,  madam." 

"Our  last  Christmas  at  Earlsfont  was  a  sad  meeting  for 
the  family.     My  brother  Edward  is  well?" 

"I  had  the  happiness  to  be  told  that  I  had  been  of  a 
little  service  in  cheering  him." 

"I  can  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Adister,  letting  her  eyes 
dwell  on  the  young  man;  and  he  was  moved  by  the  silvery 
tremulousness  of  her  voice. 


88  CELT  AND  SAXON 

She  resumed:  "You  have  the  art  of  dressing  in  a  sur- 
prisingly short  time." 

"There!"  exclaimed  Captain  Con:  for  no  man  can  hear 
the  words  which  prove  him  a  prophet  without  showing 
excitement.  "Didn't  I  say  so?  Patrick's  a  hero  for  love 
or  war,  my  dear.  He  stood  neat  and  trim  from  the  silk 
socks  to  the  sprig  of  neck-tie  in  six  minutes  by  my  watch. 
And  that's  witness  to  me  that  you  may  count  on  him  for 
what  the  great  Napoleon  called  two-o'clock-in-the-morning 
courage;  not  too  common  even  in  his  immortal  army:  — 
when  it's  pitch  black  and  frosty  cold,  and  you're  buried 
within  in  a  dream  of  home,  and  the  trumpet  springs  you  to 
your  legs  in  a  trice,  boots  and  trowsers,  coat  and  sword-belt 
and  shako,  and  one  twirl  to  the  whiskers,  and  away  before 
a  second  snap  of  the  fingers  to  where  the  great  big  bursting 
end  of  all  things  for  you  lies  crouching  like  a  Java-Tiger  — - 
a  ferocious  beast  painted  undertaker's  colour  —  for  a  leap 
at  you  in  particular  out  of  the  dark ;  —  never  waiting  an 
instant  to  ask  what's  the  matter  and  pretend  you  don't 
know.  That's  rare,  Philip;  that's  bravery;  Napoleon 
knew  the  thing;  and  Patrick  has  it;  my  hand's  on  the 
boy's  back  for  that." 

The  captain  was  permitted  to  discourse  as  he  pleased: 
his  wife  was  wholly  given  to  the  recent  visitor  to  Earlsfont, 
whom  she  informed  that  Caroline  was  the  youngest  daugh- 
ter of  General  Adister,  her  second  brother,  and  an  excellent 
maiden,  her  dear  Edward's  mainstay  in  his  grief.  At  last 
she  rose,  and  was  escorted  to  the  door  by  all  present.     But 


CAPTAIN  CON  AND  MRS.   o'dONNELL  89 

Captain  Con  rather  shame-facedly  explained  to  Patrick 
that  it  was  a  sham  departure;  they  had  to  follow  without 
a  single  spin  to  the  claret-jug:  he  closed  the  door  merely 
to  state  his  position;  how  at  half  past  ten  he  would  be  a 
free  man,  according  to  the  convention,  to  which  his  wife 
honourably  adhered,  so  he  had  to  do  likewise,  as  regarded 
his  share  of  it.  Thereupon  he  apologised  to  the  brothers, 
bitterly  regretting  that,  with  good  wine  in  the  cellar,  his 
could  be  no  house  for  claret;  and  promising  them  they 
should  sit  in  their  shirts  and  stretch  their  legs,  and  toast 
the  old  country  and  open  their  hearts,  no  later  than  the 
minute  pointing  to  the  time  for  his  deliverance. 

Mrs.  Adister  accepted  her  husband's  proffered  arm  un- 
hesitatingly at  the  appointed  stroke  of  the  clock.  She 
said:  "Yes,"  in  agreement  with  him,  as  if  she  had  never 
heard  him  previously  enunciate  the  formula,  upon  his  pious 
vociferation  that  there  should  be  no  trifling  with  her  hours 
of  rest. 

"You  can  find  your  way  to  my  cabin,"  he  said  to  Philip 
over  his  shoulder,  full  of  solicitude  for  the  steps  of  the 
admirable  lady  now  positively  departing. 

As  soon  as  the  brothers  were  alone,  Philip  laid  his  hand 
on  Patrick,  asking  him,  "What  does  it  mean?" 

Patrick  fired  his  cannon-shot:  "She's  married!"  Con- 
sulting his  feelings  immediately  after,  he  hated  himself  for 
his  bluntness. 

Philip  tossed  his  head.  "But  why  did  you  go  down 
there?' 


90  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"I  went,"  said  Patrick,  "well,  I  went.  ...  I  thought 
you  looked  wretched,  and  I  went  with  an  idea  of  learning 
where  she  was,  and  seeing  if  I  couldn't  do  something.  It's 
too  late  now;  all's  over." 

"My  dear  boy,  I've  worse  than  that  to  think  of." 

"You  don't  mind  it?" 

"That's  old  news,  Patrick." 

"You  don't  care  for  her  any  more,  Philip  ?" 

"You  wouldn't  have  me  caring  for  a  married  woman?" 

"She  has  a  perfect  beast  for  a  husband." 

"I'm  sorry  she  didn't  make  a  better  choice." 

"He's  a  prince." 

"So  I  hear." 

"Ah!  And  what  worse,  Philip,  can  you  be  having  to 
think  of?" 

"Affairs,"  Philip  replied,  and  made  his  way  to  the  cabin 
of  Captain  Con,  followed  in  wonderment  by  Patrick,  who 
would  hardly  have  been  his  dupe  to  suppose  him  indifferent 
and  his  love  of  Adiante  dead,  had  not  the  thought  flashed 
on  him  a  prospect  of  retaining  the  miniature  for  his  own, 
or  for  long  in  his  custody. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  CAPTAIN  S   CABIN 


Patrick  left  his  brother  at  the  second  flight  of  stairs 
to  run  and  fling  on  a  shooting-jacket,  into  which  he  stuffed 
his  treasure,  after  one  peep  that  echpsed  his  Httle  dream 
of  being  allowed  to  keep  it;  and  so  he  saw  through  Philip. 

The  captain's  cabin  was  the  crown  of  his  house-top,  a 
builder's  addition  to  the  roof,  where  the  detestable  deeds 
he  revelled  in,  calling  them  liberty,  could  be  practised, 
according  to  the  convention,  and  no  one  save  rosy  Mary,  in 
her  sense  of  smell,  when  she  came  upon  her  morning  busi- 
ness to  clean  and  sweep,  be  any  the  wiser  of  them,  because, 
as  it  is  known  to  the  whole  world,  smoke  ascends,  and  he 
was  up  among  the  chimneys.  Here,  he  would  say  to  his 
friends  and  fellow-sinners,  you  can  unfold,  unbosom,  ex- 
plode, do  all  you  like,  except  caper,  and  there's  a  small 
square  of  lead  between  the  tiles  outside  for  that,  if  the  spirit 
of  the  jig  comes  upon  you  with  violence,  and  I  have  had  it 
on  me,  and  eased  myself  mightily  there,  to  my  own  music; 
and  the  capital  of  the  British  Empire  below  me.  Here  we 
take  our  indemnity  for  subjection  to  the  tyrannical  female 
ear,  and  talk  like  copious  rivers  meandering  at  their  own 
sweet  will.     Here  we  roll  like  dogs  in  carrion,  and  no  one 

91 


92  CELT  AND   SAXON 

to  sniff  at  our  coats.     Here  we  sing  treason,  here  we  flout 
reason,  night  is  out  season  at  half-past  ten! 

This  introductory  ode  to  Freedom  was  his  throwing  off 
of  steam,  the  foretaste  of  what  he  contained.  He  rejoined 
his  cousins,  chirping  variations  on  it,  and  attired  in  a  green 
silken  suit  of  airy  Ottoman  volume,  full  of  incitement  to 
the  legs  and  arms  to  swing  and  set  him  up  for  a  Sultan. 
"  Now  Phil,  now  Pat,"  he  cried,  after  tenderly  pulling  the 
door  to  and  making  sure  it  was  shut,  "any  tale  you've  a 
mind  for  —  infamous  and  audacious!  You're  licensed  by 
the  gods  up  here,  and  may  laugh  at  them  too,  and  their 
mothers  and  grandmothers,  if  the  fit  seizes  ye,  and  the 
heartier  it  is  the  greater  the  exemption.  We're  pots  that 
knock  the  lid  and  must  pour  out  or  boil  over  and  destroy 
the  furniture.  ^ly  praties  are  ready  for  peelin',  if  ever 
they  were  in  this  world!  Chuck  wigs  from  sconces,  and 
off  with  your  buckram.  Decency's  a  dirty  petticoat  in  the 
Garden  of  Innocence.  Naked  we  stand,  boys!  we're  not 
afraid  of  nature.  You're  in  the  annexe  of  Erin,  Pat,  and 
devil  a  constable  at  the  keyhole;  no  rats;  I'll  say  that  for 
the  Government,  though  it's  a  despotism  with  an  iron 
bridle  on  the  tongue  outside  to  a  foot  of  the  door.  Arctic 
to  freeze  the  boldest  bud  of  liberty!  I'd  like  a  French 
chanson  from  ye,  Pat,  to  put  us  in  tune,  with  a  right 
revolutionary  hurling  chorus,  that  pitches  Kings'  heads 
into  the  basket  like  autumn  apples.  Or  one  of  your  hymns 
in  Gaelic  sung  ferociously  to  sound  as  horrid  to  the  Saxon, 
the  wretch.     His  reign's  not  for  ever;   he  can't  enter  here. 


THE  captain's  CABIN  93 

You're  in  the  stronghold  defying  him.  And  now  cigars, 
boys,  pipes ;  there  are  the  boxes,  there  are  the  bowls.  I 
can't  smoke  till  I  have  done  steaming.  I'll  sit  awhile 
silently  for  the  operation.  Christendom  hasn't  such  a  man 
as  your  cousin  Con  for  feeling  himself  a  pig-possessed  all 
the  blessed  day,  acting  the  part  of  somebody  else,  till  it 
takes  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  my  enfranchisement 
and  restoration  of  my  natural  man  to  know  myself  again. 
For  the  moment,  I'm  froth,  scum,  horrid  boiling  hiss- 
ing dew  of  the  agony  of  transformation;  I  am;  I'm  that 
pig  disgorging  the  spirit  of  wickedness  from  his  poor 
stomach." 

The  captain  drooped  to  represent  the  state  of  the  self- 
relieving  victim  of  the  evil  one;  but  fearful  lest  either  of  his 
cousins  should  usurp  the  chair  and  thwart  his  chance  of 
delivering  himself,  he  rattled  away  sympathetically  with  his 
posture  in  melancholy:  "Ay,  we're  poor  creatures;  pigs 
and  prophets,  princes  and  people,  victors  and  vanquished, 
we're  waves  of  the  sea,  roiling  over  and  over,  and  calling  it 
life!  There's  no  life  save  the  eternal.  Father  Boyle's  got 
the  truth.  Flesh  is  less  than  grass,  my  sons;  'tis  the 
shadow  that  crosses  the  grass.  I  love  the  grass.  I  could 
sit  and  watch  grass-blades  for  hours.  I  love  an  old  turf- 
mound,  where  the  grey  grass  nods  and  seems  to  know  the 
wind  and  have  a  whisper  with  it,  of  ancient  times  maybe 
and  most  like;  about  the  big  chief  lying  underneath  in  the 
last  must  of  his  bones  that  a  breath  of  air  would  scatter. 
They  just  keep  their  skeleton  shape  as  they  are;   for  the 


94  CELT  AND   SAXON 

turf -mound  protects  them  from  troubles:  'tis  the  nurse  to 
that  delicate  old  infant!  —  Waves  of  the  sea,  did  I  say? 
We're  wash  in  a  hog-trough  for  Father  Saturn  to  devour; 
big  chief  and  suckling  babe,  we  all  go  into  it,  calling  it  life! 
And  what  hope  have  we  of  reading  the  mystery  ?  All  we 
can  see  is  the  straining  of  the  old  fellow's  hams  to  push  his 
old  snout  deeper  into  the  gobble,  and  the  ridiculous  curl 
of  a  tail  totally  devoid  of  expression!  You'll  observe  that 
gluttons  have  no  feature;  they're  jaws  and  hindquarters; 
which  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  'm ;  and  so  you  may  say 
to  Time  for  his  dealing  with  us:  so  let  it  be  a  lesson  to  you 
not  to  bother  your  wits,  but  leave  the  puzzle  to  the  priest 
He  understands  it,  and  why  ?  —  because  he  was  told. 
There's  harmony  in  his  elocution,  and  there's  none  in  the 
modem  drivel  about  where  we're  going  and  what  we  came 
out  of.  No  wonder  they  call  it  an  age  of  despair,  when  you 
see  the  big  wigs  filing  up  and  down  the  thoroughfares  with 
a  great  advertisement  board  on  their  shoulders,  proclaiming 
no  information  to  the  multitude,  but  a  blank  note  of  inter- 
rogation addressed  to  Providence,  as  if  an  answer  from 
above  would  be  vouchsafed  to  their  impudence!  They 
haven't  the  first  principles  of  good  manners.  And  some 
of  'm  in  a  rage  bawl  the  answer  for  themselves.  Hear 
that!  No,  Phil;  No,  Pat,  no:  devotion's  good  policy. — 
You're  not  drinking!  Are  you  both  of  ye  asleep  ?  why  do 
you  leave  me  to  drone  away  like  this,  when  it's  conversation 
I  want,  as  in  the  days  of  our  first  parents,  before  the  fig- 
leaf  ?  —  and  you  might  have  that  for  scroll  and  figure  on 


THE   captain's  CABIN  95 

the  social  banner  of  the  hypocritical  Saxon,  who's  a  gor- 
mandising animal  behind  his  decency,  and  nearer  to  the 
Archdevourer  Time  than  anything  I  can  imagine:  except 
that  with  a  little  exertion  you  can  elude  him.  The  whisky 
you've  got  between  you's  virgin  of  the  excise.  I'll  pay 
double  for  freepeaty  any  day.  Or  are  you  for  claret,  my 
lads  ?  No  ?  I'm  fortified  up  here  to  stand  a  siege  in  my 
old  round  tower,  like  the  son  of  Eremon  that  I  am.  Lavra 
Con!  Con  speaks  at  last!  I  don't  ask  you,  Pat,  whether 
you  remember  Maen,  who  was  bom  dumb,  and  had  for  his 
tutors  Ferkeln^  the  bard  and  Craftin6  the  harper,  at 
pleasant  Dinree:  he  was  grandson  of  Leary  Lore  who  was 
basely  murdered  by  his  brother  Cova,  and  Cova  spared  the 
dumb  boy,  thinking  a  man  without  a  tongue  harmless,  as 
fools  do:  being  one  of  their  savings-bank  tricks,  to  be 
repaid  them,  their  heirs,  executors,  administrators,  and 
assigns  at  compound  interest,  have  no  fear.  So  one  day 
Maen  had  an  insult  put  on  him;  and  'twas  this  for  certain: 
a  ruffian  fellow  of  the  Court  swore  he  couldn't  mention  the 
name  of  his  father;  and  in  a  thundering  fury  Maen  burst 
his  tongue-tie,  and  the  Court  shouted,  Lavra  Maen!  and 
he  had  to  go  into  exile,  where  he  married  in  the  middle  of 
delicious  love-adventures  the  beautiful  Moira  through  the 
cunning  of  Crafting  the  harper.  There's  been  no  harper 
in  my  instance,  but  plenty  of  ruffians  to  swear  I'm  too 
comfortable  to  think  of  my  country."  The  captain  hol- 
loaed. "  Do  they  hear  that  ?  Lord !  but  wouldn't  our  old 
Celtic  fill  the  world  "'ith  poetry  if  only  we  were  a  free  people 


96  CELT  AND   SAXON 

to  give  our  minds  to  't,  instead  of  to  the  itch  on  our  backs 
from  the  Saxon  horsehair  shirt  we're  forced  to  wear.  For, 
Pat,  as  you  know,  we're  a  loving  people,  we're  a  loyal 
people,  we  burn  to  be  enthusiastic,  but  when  our  skins 
are  eternally  irritated,  how  can  we  sing?  In  a  freer  Erin 
I'd  be  the  bard  of  the  land,  never  doubt  it.  What  am  I 
here  but  a  discontented  idle  lout  crooning  over  the  empty 
glories  of  our  isle  of  Saints!  You  feel  them,  Pat.  Phil's 
all  for  his  British  army,  his  capabilities  of  British  light 
eavalr}%  Write  me  the  history  of  the  Enniskillens.  I'll 
read  it.  Aha,  my  boy,  when  they're  off  at  the  charge! 
And  you'll  oblige  me  with  the  tale  of  Fontenoy.  Why, 
Phil  has  an  opportunity  stretching  forth  a  hand  to  him  now 
more  than  halfway  that  comes  to  a  young  Irishman  but 
once  in  a  century:  backed  by  the  entire  body  of  the  priest- 
hood of  Ireland  too!  and  if  only  he  was  a  quarter  as  full 
of  the  old  country  as  you  and  I,  his  hair  would  stand  up  in 
fire  for  the  splendid  gallop  at  our  head  that's  proposed  to 
him.  His  country's  gathered  up  like  a  crested  billow  to 
roll  him  into  Parliament;  and  I  say,  let  him  be  there,  he's 
the  very  man  to  hurl  his  gauntlet,  and  tell  'm.  Parliament, 
so  long  as  you  are  parliamentary,  which  means  the  speaking 
of  our  minds,  but  if  you  won't  have  it,  then  —  and  it's  on 
your  heads  before  Europe  and  the  two  Americas.  We're 
dying  like  a  nun  that  'd  be  out  of  her  cloister,  we're  panting 
like  the  wife  who  hears  of  her  husband  coming  home  to 
her  from  the  field  of  honour,  for  that  young  man.  And 
there  he  is;   o''  there  he  seems  to  be;   but  he's  dead:   and 


THE  captain's  CABIN  97 

the  fisherman  off  the  west  coast  after  dreaming  of  a  magical 
haul,  gets  more  fish  than  disappointment  in  comparison 
with  us  when  we  cast  the  net  for  Philip.  Bring  tears  of 
vexation  at  the  emptiness  we  pull  back  for  our  pains. 
Oh,  Phill  and  to  think  of  your  youth  1  We  had  you  then. 
At  least  we  had  your  heart.  And  we  should  have  had  the 
length  and  strength  of  you,  only  for  a  woman  fatal  to  us 
as  the  daughter  of  Rhys  ap  Tudor,  the  beautiful  Nesta :  — 
and  beautiful  she  was  to  match  the  mother  of  the  curses 
trooping  over  to  Ireland  under  Strongbow,  that  I'll  grant 
you.  But  she  reined  you  in  when  you  were  a  real  warhorse 
ramping  and  snorting  flame  from  your  nostrils,  challenging 
any  other  to  a  race  for  Ireland ;  ay,  a  Cuchullin  you  were, 
Philip,  Culann's  chain-hound:  but  she  unmanned  you. 
She  soaked  the  woman  into  you  and  squeezed  the  hero  out 
of  you.  All  for  Adiante  1  or  a  country  left  to  slavery !  tliat's 
the  tale.  And  what  are  you  now?  A  paltry  captain  of 
hussars  on  the  General's  staff!  One  O'Donnell  in  a 
thousand!  And  what  is  she?  —  You  needn't  frown,  Phil; 
I'm  her  relative  by  marriage,  and  she's  a  lady.  iSIore  than 
that,  she  shot  a  dart  or  two  into  my  breast  in  those  days,  she 
did,  I'll  own  it:  I  had  the  catch  of  the  breath  that  warns 
us  of  convulsions.  She  was  the  morning  star  for  beauty, 
between  night  and  day,  and  the  best  colour  of  both. 
Welshmen  and  Irishmen  and  Englishmen  tumbled  into  the 
pit,  which  seeing  her  was,  and  there  we  jostled  for  a  glimpse 
quite  companionably;  we  were  too  hungry  for  quarrelling; 
and  to  say,  I  was  one  of  'm,  is  a  title  to  subsequent  friend- 


98  CELT  AND   S.'VXON 

ship.  True;  only  mark  me,  Philip,  and  you,  Patrick: 
they  say  she  has  married  a  prince,  and  I  say  no;  she's  took 
to  herself  a  husband  in  her  cradle;  she's  married  ambition, 
I  tell  you,  and  this  prince  of  hers  is  only  a  step  she  has 
taken,  and  if  he  chases  her  first  mate  from  her  bosom,  he'll 
prove  himself  cleverer  than  she,  and  I  dare  him  to  the  trial. 
For  she's  that  fiery  dragon,  a  beautiful  woman  with  brains 
—  which  Helen  of  Troy  hadn't,  combustible  as  we  know 
her  to  have  been :  but  brains  are  bombshells  in  comparison 
with  your  old-fashioned  pine-brands  for  kindling  men  and 
cities.  Ambition's  the  husband  of  Adiante  Adister,  and 
all  who  come  nigh  her  are  steps  to  her  aim.  She  never 
consulted  her  father  about  Prince  Nikolas ;  she  had  begun 
her  march  and  she  didn't  mean  to  be  arrested.  She  simply 
announced  her  approaching  union;  and  as  she  couldn't 
have  a  scion  of  one  of  the  Royal  House  of  Europe,  she  put 
her  foot  on  Prince  Nikolas.  And  he's  not  to  fancy  he's 
in  for  a  peaceful  existence;  he's  a  stone  in  a  sling,  and 
probably  mistaken  the  rocking  that's  to  launch  him  through 
the  air  for  a  condition  of  remarkable  ease,  perfectly  remark- 
able in  its  lullaby  motion;  ha!  well,  and  I've  not  heard  of 
ambition  that  didn't  kill  its  votary:  somehow  it  will;  'tis 
sure  to.     There  she  lies!" 

The  prophetic  captain  pointed  at  the  spot.  He  then 
said:  "And  now  I'm  for  my  pipe,  and  the  blackest  clay 
of  the  party,  with  your  permission.  I'll  just  go  to  the 
window  to  see  if  the  stars  are  out  overhead.  They're  my 
blessed  guardian  angels." 


THE  captain's  CABIN  99 

There  was  a  pause.  Philip  broke  from  a  brown  study 
to  glance  at  his  brother.     Patrick  made  a  queer  face. 

"Fun  and  good-fellowship  to-night,  Con,"  said  Philip, 
as  the  captain  sadly  reported  no  star  visible. 

"Have  I  ever  flown  a  signal  to  the  contrary?"  retorted 
the  captain. 

"No  politics,  and  I'll  thank  you,"  said  Philip:  "none  of 
your  early  recollections.     Be  jovial." 

"You  should  have  seen  me  here  the  other  night  about  a 
month  ago;  I  smuggled  up  an  old  countrywoman  of  ours, 
with  the  connivance  of  rosy  Mary,"  said  Captain  Con, 
suffused  in  the  merriest  of  grins.  "She  sells  apples  at  a 
stall  at  a  corner  of  a  street  hard  by,  and  I  saw  her  sitting 
pulling  at  her  old  pipe  in  the  cold  October  fog  morning  and 
evening  for  comfort,  and  was  overwhelmed  with  com- 
passion and  fraternal  sentiment;  and  so  I  invited  her  to  be 
at  the  door  of  the  house  at  half-past  ten,  just  to  have  a  roll 
with  her  in  Irish  mud,  and  mend  her  torn  soul  with  a 
stitch  or  two  of  rejoicing.  She  told  me  stories;  and  one 
was  pretty  good,  of  a  relative  of  hers,  or  somebody's  —  I 
should  say,  a  century  old,  but  she  told  it  with  a  becoming 
air  of  appropriation  that  made  it  family  history,  for  she's 
come  down  in  the  world,  and  this  fellow  had  a  stain  of  red 
upon  him,  and  wanted  cleaning;  and,  'What!'  says  the 
good  father,  'Mika!  you  did  it  in  cold  blood?'  And  says 
Mika,  '  Not  I,  your  Riverence.  I  got  myself  into  a  passion 
'fore  I  let  loose.'  I  believe  she  smoked  this  identical  pipe. 
She  acknowledged  the  merits  of  my  whisky,  as  poets  do 


100  CELT  AND  SAXON 

hearing  fine  verses,  never  clapping  hands,  but  with  the 
expressiveness  of  grave  absorption.  That's  the  way  to 
make  good  things  a  part  of  you.  She  was  a  treat.  I  got 
her  out  and  off  at  midnight,  rosy  Mary  sneaking  her  down, 
and  the  old  girl  quiet  as  a  mouse  for  the  fun's  sake.  The 
whole  intrigue  was  exquisitely  managed." 

"You  run  great  risks,"  Philip  observed. 

"I  do,"  said  the  captain. 

He  called  on  the  brothers  to  admire  the  "martial  and 
fumial"  decorations  of  his  round  tower,  buzzing  over  the 
display  of  implements,  while  Patrick  examined  guns  and 
Philip  unsheathed  swords.  An  ancient  clay  pipe  from  the 
bed  of  the  Thames  and  one  from  the  bed  of  the  Boyne 
were  laid  side  by  side,  and  strange  to  relate,  the  Irish  pipe 
and  English  immediately,  by  the  mere  fact  of  their  being 
proximate,  entered  into  rivalry;  they  all  but  leapt  upon  one 
another.  The  captain  judicially  decided  the  case  against 
the  English  pipe,  as  a  newer  pipe  of  grosser  manufacture, 
not  so  curious  by  any  means. 

"This,"  Philip  held  up  the  reputed  Irish  pipe,  and 
scanned  as  he  twirled  it  on  his  thumb,  "this  was  dropped 
in  Bo>Tie  Water  by  one  of  William's  troopers.  It  is  an 
Orange  pipe.     I  take  it  to  be  of  English  make." 

"If  I  thought  that,  I'd  stamp  my  heel  on  the  humbug 
the  neighbour  minute,"  said  Captain  Con.  "Where's  the 
sign  of  English  marks?" 

"The  pipes  resemble  one  another,"  said  Philip,  "like 
ttiils  of  Shannon-bred  retrievers." 


THE   captain's   CABIN  101 

"Maybe  they're  both  Irish,  then?"  the  captain  caught 
at  analogy  to  rescue  his  favourite  from  reproach. 

"Both  of  them  are  Saxon." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!" 

"Look  at  the  clay." 

"I  look,  and  I  tell  you,  Philip,  it's  of  a  piece  with  your 
lukewarmness  for  the  country,  or  you  wouldn't  talk  like 
that." 

"There  is  no  record  of  pipe  manufactories  in  Ireland 
at  the  period  you  name." 

"There  is:  and  the  jealousy  of  rulers  caused  them  to  be 
destroyed  by  decrees,  if  you  want  historical  evidence." 

"Your  opposition  to  the  Saxon  would  rob  him  of  his 
pipe.  Con!" 

"Let  him  go  to  the  deuce  with  as  many  pipes  as  he  can 
carry;   but  he  shan't  have  this  one." 

"Not  a  toss-up  of  difference  is  to  be  seen  in  the  pair." 

"Use  your  eyes.  The  Irish  bowl  is  broken,  and  the 
English  has  an  inch  longer  stem!" 

"O  the  Irish  bowl  is  broken!"  Philip  sang. 

"You've  the  heart  of  a  renegade-foreigner  not  to  see 
it!"  cried  the  captain. 

Patrick  intervened  saying:     "I  suspect  they're  Dutch." 

"Well,  and  that's  possible."  Captain  Con  scrutinised 
them  to  calm  his  temper:  "there's  a  Dutchiness  in  the 
shape." 

He  offered  Philip  the  compromise  of  "Dutch"  rather 
plaintively,  but  it  was  not  accepted,  and  the  pipes  would 


102  CELT  AND   SAXON 

have  mingled  their  fragments  on  the  hearthstone  if  Patrick 
had  not  stayed  his  arm,  saying:     "Don't  hurt  them." 

"And  I  won't,"  the  captain  shook  his  hand  gratefully. 

"But  will  Philip  O'Donnell  tell  me  that  Ireland  should 
lie  down  with  England  on  the  terms  of  a  traveller  obliged 
to  take  a  bedfellow  ?  Come!  He  hasn't  an  answer.  Put 
it  to  him,  and  you  pose  him.  But  he'll  not  stir,  though  he 
admits  the  antagonism.  And  Ireland  is  asked  to  lie  down 
with  England  on  a  couch  blessed  by  the  priest!  Not  she. 
Wipe  out  our  grievances,  and  then  we'll  begin  to  talk  of 
policy.  Good  Lord!  —  lave?  The  love  of  Ireland  for  the 
conquering  country  will  be  the  celebrated  ceremony  in  the 
concluding  chapter  prcN-ious  to  the  inauguration  of  the 
millennium.  Thousands  of  us  are  in  a  starving  state  at 
home  this  winter,  Patrick.  And  it's  not  the  fault  of  Eng- 
land ?  —  landlordism's  not  ?  Who  caused  the  ruin  of  all 
Ireland's  industries  ?  You  might  as  well  say  that  it's  the 
fault  of  the  poor  beggar  to  go  limping  and  hungry  because 
his  cruel  master  struck  him  a  blow  to  cripple  him.  We 
don't  want  half  and  half  doctoring,  and  it's  too  late  in  the 
day  for  half  and  half  oratory.  We  want  freedom,  and 
we'll  have  it,  and  we  won't  leave  it  to  the  Saxon  to  think 
about  giving  it.  And  if  your  brother  Philip  won't  accept 
this  blazing  fine  offer,  then  I  will,  and  you'll  behold  me  in  a 
new  attitude.  The  fellow  yawns!  You  don't  know  me 
yet,  Philip.  They  tell  us  over  here  we  ought  to  be  satisfied. 
Fall  upon  our  list  of  wrongs,  and  they  set  to  work  yawning. 
You  can  only  move  them  by  popping  at  them  over  hedges 


THE  captain's  CABIN  103 

and  roaring  on  platforms.  They're  incapable  of  under- 
standing a  complaint  a  yard  beyond  their  noses.  The 
Englishman  has  an  island  mind,  and  when  he's  out  of  it 
he's  at  sea." 

"Mad,  you  mean,"  said  Philip. 

"I  repeat  my  words,  Captain  Philip  O'Donnell,  late  of 
the  staff  of  the  General  commanding  in  Canada." 

"The  Irishman  too  has  an  island  mind,  and  when  he's 
out  of  it  he's  at  sea,  and  unable  to  manage  his  craft,"  said 
Philip. 

"You'll  find  more  craft  in  him  when  he's  buffeted  than 
you  reckoned  on,"  his  cousin  flung  back.  "And  if  that 
isn't  the  speech  of  a  traitor  sold  to  the  enemy,  and  now 
throwing  off  the  mask,  traitors  never  did  mischief  in  Ire- 
land! Why,  what  can  you  discover  to  admire  in  these 
people?  Isn't  their  army  such  a  combination  of  colours 
in  the  uniforms,  with  their  yellow  facings  on  red  jackets,  I 
never  saw  out  of  a  doll-shop,  and  never  saw  there  ?  And 
their  Horse  Guards,  weedy  to  a  man!  fit  for  a  doll-shop 
they  are,  by  my  faith!  And  their  Foot  Guards:  Have  ye 
met  the  fellows  marching  ?  with  their  feet  turned  out,  flat 
as  my  laundress's  irons,  and  the  muscles  of  their  calves 
depending  on  the  joints  to  get  'm  along,  for  elasticity  never 
gave  those  bones  of  theirs  a  springing  touch;  and  their 
bearskins  heeling  behind  on  their  polls;  like  pot-house 
churls  daring  the  dursn't  to  come  on.  Of  course  they  can 
fight.  Who  said  no?  But  they're  not  the  only  ones:  and 
they'll  miss  their  ranks  before  they  can  march  like  our 


104  CELT  AND   SAXON 

Irish  lads.  The  look  of  their  men  in  line  is  for  all  the 
world  to  us  what  lack-lustre  is  to  the  eye.  The  drill 
they've  had  hasn't  driven  Hodge  out  of  them,  it  has  only 
stiffened  the  dolt;  and  dolt  won't  do  any  longer;  the 
military  machine  requires  intelligence  in  all  ranks  now. 
Ay,  the  time  for  the  Celt  is  dawning:  I  see  it,  and  I  don't 
often  spy  a  spark  where  there  isn't  soon  a  blaze.  Solidity 
and  stupidity  have  had  their  innings:  a  precious  long 
innings  it  has  been;  and  now  they're  shoved  aside  like 
clods  of  earth  from  the  rising  flower.  Off  with  our  shack- 
les! We've  only  to  determine  it  to  be  free,  and  we'll 
bloom  again;  and  I'll  be  the  first  to  speak  the  word  and 
mount  the  colours.  Follow  mel  Will  ye  join  in  the  toast 
to  the  emblem  of  Erin  —  the  shamrock,  Phil  and  Pat?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  said  Philip.  "What's  that  row  going 
on?"  Patrick  also  called  attention  to  the  singular  noise 
in  the  room.  "  I  fancy  the  time  for  the  Celt  is  not  dawning, 
but  setting,"  said  Philip,  with  a  sharp  smile;  and  Patrick 
wore  an  artful  look. 

A  corner  of  the  room  was  guilty  of  the  incessant  alarum. 
Captain  Con  gazed  in  that  direction  incredulously  and  with 
remonstrance.  "The  tinkler  it  is!"  he  sighed.  "But  it 
can't  be  midnight  yet  ?"  Watches  were  examined.  Time 
stood  at  half-past  the  midnight.  He  groaned:  "I  must 
go.  I  haven't  heard  the  tinkler  for  months.  It  signifies 
she's  cold  in  her  bed.  The  thing  called  circulation's  un- 
known to  her  save  by  the  aid  of  outward  application,  and 
I'm  the  warming  pan,  as  legitimately  I  should  be,  I'm  her 


THE  captain's  CABIN  105 

husband  and  her  Harvey  in  one.  Good-bye  to  my  hop  and 
skip.  I  ought  by  rights  to  have  been  down  beside  her  at 
midnight.  She's  the  worthiest  woman  alive,  and  I  don't 
shirk  my  duty.  Be  quiet!"  he  bellowed  at  the  alarum; 
"I'm  coming.  Don't  be  in  such  a  fright,  my  dear,"  he 
admonished  it  as  his  wife,  politely.  "Your  hand'll  take 
an  hour  to  warm  if  you  keep  it  out  on  the  spring  that  sets 
the  creature  going."  He  turned  and  informed  his  com- 
pany: "Her  hand'll  take  an  hour  to  warm.  Dear!  how 
she  runs  ahead :  d'ye  hear?  That's  the  female  tongue,  and 
once  off  it  won't  stop.  And  this  contrivance  for  fetching 
me  from  my  tower  to  her  bed  was  niy  own  suggestion,  in  a 
fit  of  generosity!  Ireland  all  over!  I  must  hurry  and 
wash  my  hair,  for  she  can't  bear  a  perfume  to  kill  a  stink; 
she  carries  her  charitable  heart  that  far.  Good-night,  I'll 
be  thinking  of  ye  while  I'm  warming  her.  Sit  still,  I  can't 
wait;  'tis  the  secret  of  my  happiness."  He  fled.  Patrick 
struck  his  knee  on  hearing  the  expected  ballad-burdea 
recur. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   BROTHERS 

"Con  has  learnt  one  secret,"  said  Philip,  quitting  his 
chair. 

Patrick  went  up  to  him,  and,  "Give  us  a  hug,"  he  said, 
and  the  hug  was  given. 

They  were  of  an  equal  height,  tall  young  men,  alert, 
nervously  braced  from  head  to  foot,  with  the  differences 
between  soldier  and  civilian  marked  by  the  succinctly 
military  bearing  of  the  elder  brother,  whose  movements 
were  precise  and  prompt,  and  whose  frame  was  leopard- 
like in  indolence.  Beside  him  Patrick  seemed  cubbish, 
though  beside  another  he  would  not  have  appeared  so. 
His  features  were  not  so  brilliantly  regular,  but  were  a 
fanciful  sketch  of  the  same  design,  showing  a  wider  pattern 
of  the  long  square  head  and  the  forehead,  a  wavering  at  the 
dip  of  the  nose,  livelier  nostrils:  the  nostrils  dilated  and 
contracted,  and  were  exceeding  alive.  His  eyelids  had  to 
do  with  the  look  of  his  eyes,  and  were  often  seen  cutting 
the  ball.  Philip's  eyes  were  large  on  the  pent  of  his  brows, 
open,  liquid,  and  quick  with  the  fire  in  him.  Eyes  of  that 
quality  are  the  visible  mind,  animated  both  to  speak  it  and 
to  render  it  what  comes  within  their  scope.  They  were 
full,  unshaded,  direct,  the  man  himself,  in  action.    Patrick's 

106 


THE   BROTHERS  107 

mouth  had  to  be  studied  for  an  additional  index  to  the 
character.  To  symbolise  them,  they  were  as  a  sword- 
blade  lying  beside  book. 

Men  would  have  thought  Patrick  the  slippery  one  of  the 
two :  women  would  have  inclined  to  confide  in  him  the  more 
thoroughly;  they  bring  feeling  to  the  test,  and  do  not  so 
much  read  a  print  as  read  the  imprinting  on  themselves; 
and  the  report  that  a  certain  one  of  us  is  true  as  steel,  must 
be  unanimous  at  a  propitious  hour  to  assure  them  com- 
pletely that  the  steel  is  not  two-edged  in  the  fully  formed 
nature  of  a  man  whom  they  have  not  tried.  They  are 
more  at  home  with  the  unformed,  which  lends  itself  to 
feeling  and  imagination.  Besides  Patrick  came  nearer  to 
them ;  he  showed  sensibility.  They  have  it,  and  they  deem 
it  auspicious  of  goodness,  or  of  the  gentleness  acceptable 
as  an  equivalent.  Not  the  less  was  Philip  the  one  to 
inspire  the  deeper  and  the  wilder  passion. 

"So  you've  been  down  there ?"  said  Philip.  "Tell  us  of 
your  welcome.  Never  mind  why  you  went :  I  think  I  see. 
You're  the  Patrick  of  fourteen,  who  tramped  across  Con- 
naught  for  young  Dermot  to  have  a  sight  of  you  before  he 
died,  poor  lad.     How  did  Mr.  Adister  receive  you?" 

Patrick  described  the  first  interview. 

Philip  mused  over  it.  "Yes,  those  are  some  of  his  ideas: 
gentlemen  are  to  excel  in  the  knightly  exercises.  He  used 
to  fence  excellently,  and  he  was  a  good  horseman.  The 
Jesuit  seminary  would  have  been  hard  for  him  to  swallow 
once.     The  house  is  a  fine  old  house:   lonely,  I  suppose." 


108  CELT  AND   SAXON 

Patrick  spoke  of  Caroline  Adister  and  pursued  his  nar- 
rative. Philip  was  lost  in  thought.  At  the  conclusion, 
relating  to  South  America,  he  raised  his  head  and  said: 
"Not  so  foolish  as  it  struck  you,  Patrick.  You  and  I 
might  do  that,  —  without  the  design  upon  the  original 
owner  of  the  soil !  Irishmen  are  better  out  of  Europe,  un- 
less they  enter  one  of  the  Continental  services." 

"What  is  it  Con  O'Donnell  proposes  to  you?"  Patrick 
asked  him  earnestly. 

"To  be  a  speaking-trumpet  in  Parliament.  And  to  put 
it  first  among  the  objections,  I  haven't  an  independence; 
not  above  two  hundred  a  year." 

"I'll  make  it  a  thousand,"  said  Patrick,  "that  is,  if  my 
people  can  pay." 

"Secondly,  I  don't  want  to  give  up  my  profession. 
Thirdly,  fourthly,  fifthly,  once  there,  I  should  be  boiling 
with  the  rest.  I  never  could  go  half  way.  This  idea  of  a 
commencement  gives  me  a  view  of  the  finish.  Would  you 
care  to  try  it?" 

"If  I'm  no  wiser  after  two  or  three  years  of  the  world 
I  mean  to  make  a  better  acquaintance  with,"  Patrick 
replied.  "Over  there  at  home  one  catches  the  fever,  you 
know.  They  have  my  feelings,  and  part  of  my  judgment, 
and  whether  that's  the  weaker  part  I  can't  at  present  de- 
cide.    My  taste  is  for  quiet  fanning  and  breeding." 

"Friendship,  as  far  as  possible;  union,  if  the  terms  are 
fair,"  said  Philip.  "  It's  only  the  name  of  union  now;  sup- 
jjosing  it  a  concession  that  is  asked  of  them;  say,  sacrifice; 


THE   BROTHERS  109 

it  might  be  made  for  the  sake  of  what  our  people  would 
do  to  strengthen  the  nation.  But  they  won't  try  to  under- 
stand our  people.  Their  laws,  and  their  rules,  their 
systems  are  forced  on  a  race  of  an  opposite  temper,  who 
would  get  on  well  enough,  and  thrive,  if  they  were  properly 
consulted.  Ireland's  the  sore  place  of  England,  and  I'm 
sorry  for  it.  We  ought  to  be  a  solid  square,  with  Europe 
in  this  pickle.  So  I  say,  sitting  here.  What  should  I  b*. 
saying  in  Parliament?" 

"Is  Con  at  all  likely,  do  you  think,  Philip?" 
"He  might:  and  become  the  burlesque  Irishman  of  the 
House.     There  must  be  one,  and  the  lot  would  be  safe  to 
fall  on  him." 

"Isn't  he  serious  about  it?" 

"Quite,  I  fancy;  and  that  will  be  the  fun.  A  serious 
fellow  talking  nonsense  with  lively  illustrations,  is  just  the 
man  for  House  of  Commons  clown.  Your  humorous 
rogue  is  not  half  so  taking.  Con  would  be  the  porpoise  in 
a  fish-tank  there,  inscrutably  busy  on  his  errand  and 
watched  for  his  tumblings.  Better  I  than  he ;  and  I  should 
make  a  worse  mess  of  it  —  at  least  for  myself." 
"W^ouldn't  the  secret  of  his  happiness  interfere?" 
"If  he  has  the  secret  inside  his  common  sense.  The 
bulk  of  it  I  suspect  to  be,  that  he  enjoys  his  luxuries  and  is 
ashamed  of  his  laziness;  and  so  the  secret  pulls  both  ways. 
One  day  a  fit  of  pride  may  have  him,  or  one  of  his  warm 
impulses,  and  if  he's  taken  in  the  tide  of  it,  I  shall  grieve  for 
the  secret." 


110  CELT  AND  SAXON 

"You  like  his  wife,  Philip?" 

"  I  respect  her.  They  came  together,  I  suppose,  because 
they  were  near  together,  like  the  two  islands,  in  spite  of  the 
rolling  waves  between.  I  would  not  willingly  see  the  union 
disturbed.  He  warms  her,  and  she  houses  him.  And  he 
has  to  control  the  hot  blood  that  does  the  warming,  and 
she  to  moderate  the  severity  of  her  principles,  which  are  an 
essential  part  of  the  housing.  Oh !  shiver  politics,  Patrice. 
I  wish  I  had  been  bred  in  France :  a  couple  of  years  with 
your  Pere  Clement,  and  I  could  have  met  Irishmen  and  felt 
to  them  as  an  Irishman,  whether  they  were  disaffected  or 
not.  I  wish  I  did.  When  I  landed  the  other  day,  I  thought 
myself  passably  cured,  and  could  have  said  that  rhetoric 
is  the  fire-water  of  our  country,  and  claptrap  the  spring- 
board to  send  us  diving  into  it.  I  like  my  comrades-in- 
arms, I  like  the  character  of  British  officers,  and  the  men 
too  —  I  get  on  well  with  them.  I  declare  to  you,  Patrice, 
I  burn  to  live  in  brotherhood  with  them,  not  a  rift  of  divi- 
sion at  heart!  I  never  show  them  that  there  is  one.  But 
our  early  training  has  us;  it  comes  on  us  again;  tliree  or 
four  days  with  Con  have  stirred  me;  I  don't  let  him  see  it, 
but  they  always  do:  these  tales  of  starvation  and  shootings, 
all  the  old  work  just  as  when  I  left,  act  on  me  like  a  smell 
of  powder.  I  was  dipped  in  'Ireland  for  the  Irish';  and  a 
contented  Irishman  scarcely  seems  my  countryman." 

"I  suppose  it's  like  what  I  hear  of  as  digesting  with 
difficulty,"  Patrick  referred  to  the  state  described  by  his 
brother. 


THE   BROTHERS  111 

"And  not  the  most  agreeable  of  food,"  Philip  added. 

"It  would  be  the  secret  of  our  happiness  to  discover  how 
to  make  the  best  of  it,  if  we  had  to  pay  penance  for  the  dis- 
covery by  living  in  an  Esquimaux  shanty,"  said  Patrick. 

"With  a  frozen  fish  of  admirable  principles  for  wife," 
said  Philip. 

"Ah,  you  give  me  shudders!" 

"And  it's  her  guest  who  talks  of  her  in  that  style!  and 
I  hope  to  be  thought  a  gentleman!"  Philip  pulled  himself 
up.  "We  may  be  all  in  the  wrong.  The  way  to  begin  to 
think  so,  is  to  do  them  an  injury  and  forget  it.  The  sensa- 
tion's not  unpleasant  when  it's  other  than  a  question  of 
good  taste.  But  politics  to  bed,  Patrice.  My  chief  is 
right  —  soldiers  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  What  are 
you  fiddling  at  in  your  coat  there?" 

"Something  for  you,  my  dear  Philip,"  Patrick  brought 
out  the  miniature.  He  held  it  for  his  brother  to  look.  "  It 
was  the  only  thing  I  could  get.  Mr.  Adister  sends  it.  The 
young  lady,  Miss  Caroline,  seconded  me.  They  think  more 
of  the  big  portrait:  I  don't.  And  it's  to  be  kept  carefully,  in 
case  of  the  other  one  getting  damaged.     That's  only  fair.'* 

Philip  drank  in  the  face  upon  a  swift  shot  of  his  eyes. 

"Mr.  Adister  sends  it?"  His  tone  implied  wonder  at 
such  a  change  in  Adiante's  father. 

"And  an  invitation  to  you  to  visit  him  when  you  please." 

"That  he  might  do,"  said  Philip:  it  was  a  lesser  thing 
than  to  send  her  likeness  to  him. 

Patrick  could  not  help  dropping  his  voice:     "Isn't  it 


112  CELT  AND   SAXON 

very  like?"  For  an  answer  the  miniature  had  to  be  in- 
spected closely. 

Philip  was  a  Spartan  for  keeping  his  feelings  under. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  after  an  interval  quick  with  fiery  touches 
on  the  history  of  that  face  and  his  life.  "Older,  of  course. 
They  are  the  features,  of  course.  The  likeness  is  not 
bad.  I  suppose  it  resembles  her  as  she  is  now,  or  was 
W'hen  it  was  painted.  You're  an  odd  fellow  to  have  asked 
for  it." 

"I  thought  you  would  wish  to  have  it,  Philip." 

"You're  a  good  boy,  Patrice.  Light  those  candles: 
we'll  go  to  bed.  I  want  a  cool  head  for  such  brains  as  I 
have,  and  bumping  the  pillow  all  night  is  not  exactly 
wholesome.  We'll  cross  the  Channel  in  a  few  days,  and 
see  the  nest,  and  the  mother,  and  the  girls." 

"Xot  St.  George's  Channel.  Mother  would  rather  you 
would  go  to  France  and  visit  the  De  Reuils.  She  and  the 
girls  hope  you  will  keep  out  of  Ireland  for  a  time:  it's  hot. 
Judge  if  they're  anxious,  when  it's  to  stop  them  from  seeing 
you,  Philip!" 

"Good-night,  dear  boy."  Philip  checked  the  departing 
Patrick.  "You  can  leave  that."  He  made  a  sign  for  the 
miniature  to  be  left  on  the  table. 

Patrick  laid  it  there.  His  brother  had  not  touched  it, 
and  he  could  have  defended  himself  for  having  forgotten  to 
leave  it,  on  the  plea  that  it  might  prevent  his  brother  from 
having  his  proper  share  of  .sleep;  and  also,  that  Philip  had 
no  great  pleasure  in  the  possession  of  it.     The  two  pleas, 


THE   BROTHERS  113 

however,  did  not  make  one  harmonious  apology,  and  he 
went  straight  to  the  door  in  an  odd  silence,  with  the  step 
of  a  decorous  office-clerk,  keeping  his  shoulders  turned  on 
Philip  to  conceal  his  look  of  destitution. 


CHAPTER  XI 

INTRODUCING   A   NEW  CHARACTER 

Letters  and  telegrams  and  morning  journals  lay  on  the 
breakfast-table,  awaiting  the  members  of  the  household 
with  combustible  matter.  Bad  news  from  Ireland  came 
upon  ominous  news  from  India.  Philip  had  ten  words  of 
mandate  from  his  commanding  officer,  and  they  signified 
action,  uncertain  where.  He  was  the  soldier  at  once, 
buckled  tight  and  buttoned  up  over  his  private  sentiments. 
Vienna  shot  a  line  to  Mrs.  Adister  O'Donnell.  She  com- 
municated it:  "The  Princess  Nikolas  has  a  son!"  Cap- 
tain Con  tossed  his  newspaper  to  the  floor,  crying:  "To- 
day the  city' 11  be  a  chimney  on  fire,  with  the  blacks  in 
everybody's  faces;  but  I  must  go  down.  It's  hen  and 
chicks  with  the  director  of  a  City  Company.     I  must  go." 

"Did  you  say,  madam?"  Patrick  inquired. 

"A  son,"  said  INIrs.  Adister. 

"And  the  military  holloaing  for  reinforcements,"  ex- 
claimed Con.     "Pheu!   Phil!" 

"That's  what  it  comes  to,"  was  Philip's  answer. 

"Precautionary  measures,  eh?" 

"You  can  make  them  provocative." 

"Will  you  beg  for  India?" 
114 


INTRODUCING  A  NEW  CHARACTER      115 

"I  shall  hear  in  an  hour." 

"Have  we  got  men ?" 

"Always  the  question  with  us!" 

"What  a  country  1"  sighed  the  captain.  "Fd  compose 
ye  a  song  of  old  Drowsylid,  except  that  it  does  no  good  to 
be  singing  it  at  the  only  time  when  you  can  show  her  the 
consequences  of  her  sluggery.  A  country  of  compromise 
goes  to  pieces  at  the  first  cannon-shot  of  the  advance,  and 
while  she's  fighting  on  it's  her  poor  business  to  be  putting 
herself  together  again :  So  she  makes  a  mess  of  the  begin- 
ning, to  a  certainty.  If  it  weren't  that  she  had  the  arm  of 
Neptune  about  her!  The  worst  is  she  may  some  day  start 
awake  to  discover  that  her  protecting  deity's  been  napping 
too.  —  A  boy  or  girl  did  you  say,  my  dear  ? " 

His  wife  replied:     "A  son." 

"Ah!  more  births."  The  captain  appeared  to  be  com- 
puting. "But  this  one's  out  of  England:  and  it's  a  prince 
I  suppose  they'll  call  him:  and  princes  don't  count  in  the 
population  for  more  than  finishing  touches,  like  the  crossing 
of  t's  and  dotting  of  i's,  though  true  they're  the  costliest, 
like  some  flowers  and  feathers,  and  they  add  to  the  lump 
on  Barney's  back.  But  who  has  any  compassion  for  a 
burdened  donkey  ?  unless  when  you  see  him  standing  im- 
mortal meek!  Well,  and  a  child  of  some  sort  must  have 
been  expected?  Because  it's  no  miracle  after  marriage: 
worse  luck  for  the  crowded  earth!" 

"Things  may  not  be  expected  which  are  profoundly  dis- 
tasteful," Mrs.  Adister  remarked. 


116  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"True,"  said  her  sympathetic  husband.  '"Tis  like 
reading  the  Hst  of  the  dead  after  a  battle  where  you've  not 
had  the  best  of  it  —  each  name's  a  startling  new  blow. 
I'd  offer  to  run  to  Earlsfont,  but  here's  my  company  you 
would  have  me  join  for  the  directoring  of  it,  you  know,  my 
dear,  to  ballast  me,  as  you  pretty  clearly  hinted;  and  all's 
in  the  city  to-day  like  a  loaf  with  bad  yeast,  thick  as  lead, 
and  sour  to  boot.  And  a  howl  and  growl  coming  off  the 
wilds  of  Old  Ireland!  We're  smitten  to-day  in  our  hearts 
and  our  pockets,  and  it's  a  question  where  we  ought  to  feel 
it  most,  for  the  sake  of  our  famihes." 

"Do  you  not  observe  that  your  cousins  are  not  eating?" 
said  his  wife,  adding,  to  Patrick:  " I  entertain  the  opinion 
that  a  sound  breakfast-appetite  testifies  to  the  proper  vig- 
our of  men." 

"Better  than  a  doctor's  pass:  and  to  their  habits  like- 
wise." Captain  Con  winked  at  his  guests,  begging  them  to 
steal  ten  minutes  out  of  the  fray  for  the  inward  fortification 
of  them. 

Eggs  in  the  shell,  and  masses  of  eggs,  bacon  delicately 
thin  and  curling  like  Apollo's  locks  at  his  temples,  and 
cutlets,  caviar,  anchovies  in  the  state  of  oil,  were  pressed 
with  the  captain's  fervid  illustrations  upon  the  brothers, 
both  meditatively  nibbling  toast  and  indifferent  to  the 
similes  he  drew  and  applied  to  life  from  the  little  fish  which 
had  their  sharpness  corrected  but  not  cancelled  by  the 
improved  liquid  they  swam  in.  "Like  an  Irishman  in 
clover,"  he  said  to  his  wife  to  pay  her  a  compliment  and 


INTRODUCING   A  NEW  CHAIL\CTER  117 

coax  an  acknowledgement:  "just  the  flavour  of  the  sah 
of  him." 

Her  mind  was  on  her  brother  Edward,  and  she  could  not 
look  sweet-oily,  as  her  husband  wooed  her  to  do,  with 
impulse  to  act  the  thing  he  was  imagining. 

"And  there  is  to-morrow's  dinner-party  to  the  Mattocks: 
I  cannot  travel  to  Earlsfont,"  she  said. 

"Patrick  is  a  disengaged  young  verderer,  and  knows  the 
route,  and  has  a  welcome  face  there,  and  he  might  go,  if 
you're  for  having  it  perfonned  by  word  of  mouth.  But, 
trust  me,  my  dear,  bad  news  is  best  communicated  by 
telegraph,  which  gives  us  no  stupid  articles  and  particles  to 
quarrel  with.  'Boy  born  Vienna  doctor  smiling  nurse 
laughing.'  That  tells  it  all,  straight  to  the  understanding, 
without  any  sickly  circumlocutory  stuff;  and  there's  noth- 
ing more  offensive  to  us  when  we're  hurt  at  intelligence. 
For  the  same  reason,  Colonel  Arthur  couldn't  go,  since 
you'll  want  him  to  meet  the  Mattocks?" 

Captain  Con's  undcrlip  shone  with  a  roguish  thinness. 

"Arthur  must  be  here,"  said  Mrs.  Adister.  "I  cannot 
bring  myself  to  write  it.     I  disapprove  of  telegrams." 

She  was  asking  to  be  assisted,  so  her  husband  said : 

"Take  Patrick  for  a  secretary.  Dictate.  He  has  a  bold 
free  hand  and'll  supply  all  the  fiorituri  and  arabesques  nec- 
essary to  the  occasion  running." 

She  gazed  at  Patrick  as  if  to  intimate  that  he  might  be 
enlisted,  and  said :  "  It  will  be  to  Carofine.  She  will  break 
it  to  her  uncle." 


118  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"Right,  madam,  on  the  part  of  a  lady  I've  never  known 
to  be  wrong!  And  so,  my  dear,  I  must  take  leave  of  you, 
to  hurry  down  to  the  tormented  intestines  of  that  poor 
racked  city,  where  the  winds  of  panic  are  violently  engaged 
in  occupying  the  vacuum  created  by  knocking  over  what 
the  disaster  left  standing;  and  it'll  much  resemble  a  col- 
liery accident  there,  I  suspect,  and  a  rescue  of  dead 
bodies.  Adieu,  my  dear."  He  pressed  his  lips  on  her  thin 
fingers. 

Patrick  placed  himself  at  ]Mrs.  Adister's  disposal  as  her 
secretary.     She  nodded  a  gracious  acceptance  of  him. 

"I  recommended  the  telegraph  because  it's  my  wife's 
own  style,  and  comes  better  from  wires,"  said  the  captain, 
as  they  were  putting  on  their  overcoats  in  the  hall.  "You 
must  know  the  family.  'Deeds  not  words'  would  sene 
for  their  motto.  She  hates  writing,  and  doesn't  much  love 
talking.  Pat'U  lengthen  her  sentences  for  her.  She's  fond 
of  Adiante,  and  she  sympathises  with  her  brother  Edward 
made  a  grandfather  through  the  instrumentality  of  that 
foreign  hooknose;  and  Patrick  must  turn  the  two  dagger 
sentiments  to  a  sort  of  love-knot  and  there's  the  task  he'U 
have  to  work  out  in  his  letter  to  Miss  Caroline.  It's  fun 
about  Colonel  Arthur  not  going.  He's  to  meet  the  burning 
Miss  Mattock,  who  has  gold  on  her  crown  and  a  lot  on  her 
treasury,  Phil,  my  boy!  but  I'm  bound  in  honour  not  to 
propose  it.  And  a  nice  girl,  a  prize;  a  fresh  healthy  girl; 
and  brains:  the  very  girl!  But  she's  jotted  down  for  the 
Adisters,  if  Colonel  Arthur  can  look  lower  than  his  nose 


INTRODUCING   A  NEW  CHARACTER  119 

and  wag  his  tongue  a  bit.  She's  one  to  be  a  mother  of 
stout  ones  that  won't  run  up  big  doctors'  bills  or  ask 
assistance  in  growing.  Her  name's  plain  Jane,  and  she's 
a  girl  to  breed  conquerors;  and  the  same  you  may  say  of 
her  brother  John,  who's  a  mighty  fit  man,  good  at  most 
things,  though  he  counts  his  fortune  in  millions,  which 
I've  heard  is  lighter  for  a  beggar  to  perform  than  in  pounds, 
but  he  can  count  seven,  and  beat  any  of  us  easy  by  showing 
them  millions!  We  might  do  something  for  them  at  home 
with  a  million  or  two,  Phil.  It  all  came  from  the  wedding 
of  a  railway  contractor,  who  sprang  from  the  wedding  of 
a  spade  and  a  clod  —  and  probably  called  himself  Mattock 
at  his  birth,  no  shame  to  him." 

"You're  for  the  city,"  said  Philip,  after  they  had  walked 
down  the  street. 

"Not  I,"  said  Con.  "Let  them  play  Vesuvius  down 
there.  I've  got  another  in  me:  and  I  can't  stop  their 
eruption,  and  they  wouldn't  relish  mine.  I  know  a  little 
of  Dick  Martin,  who  called  on  the  people  to  resist,  and 
housed  the  man  Liffey  after  his  firing  the  shot,  and  I'm  off 
to  Peter  M'Christy,  his  brother-in-law.  I'll  see  Distell 
too.  I  must  know  if  it  signifies  the  trigger,  or  I'm  agitated 
about  nothing.  Dr.  Forbery'll  be  able  to  tell  how  far  they 
mean  going  for  a  patriotic  song.  'For  we  march  in  ranks 
to  the  laurelled  banks,  On  the  bright  horizon  shining, 
Though  the  fields  between  run  red  on  the  green,  And  many 
a  wife  goes  pining.'     Will  you  come,  Phil  ?" 

"I'm  under  orders." 


120  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"You  won't  engage  yourself  by  coming." 
"I'm  in  for  the  pull  if  I  join  hands." 
"And  why  not?  —  inside  the  law,  of  course." 
"While  your  Barney  skirmishes  outside!" 
"And  when  the  poor  fellow's  cranium's  cracking  to  fling 
his  cap  in  the  air,  and  physician  and  politician  are  agreed 
it's  good  for  him  to  do  it,  or  he'll  go  mad  and  be  a  danger- 
ous lunatic !  Phil,  it  must  be  a  blow  now  and  then  for  these 
people  over  here,  else  there's  no  teaching  their  imagina- 
tions you're  in  earnest;  for  they've  got  heads  that  open  only 
to  hard  raps,  these  English;  and  where  injustice  rules,  and 
you'd  spread  a  light  of  justice,  a  certain  lot  of  us  must 
give  up  the  ghost  —  naturally  on  both  sides.  Law's  law, 
and  life's  life,  so  long  as  you  admit  that  the  law  is  bad;  and 
in  that  case,  it's  big  misery  and  chronic  disease  to  let  it  be, 
and  at  worst  a  jump  and  tumble  into  the  next  world,  of  a 
score  or  two  of  us  if  we  have  a  wrestle  with  him.  But 
shake  the  old  villain ;  hang  on  him  and  shake  him.  Bother 
his  wig,  if  he  calls  himself  Law.  That's  how  we  dust  the 
corruption  out  of  him  for  a  bite  or  two  in  return.  Such 
is  humanity,  Phil:  and  you  must  allow  for  the  round- 
about way  of  moving  to  get  into  the  straight  road  at  last. 
And  I  see  what  you're  for  saying:  a  roundabout  eye  won't 
find  it!  You're  wrong  where  there  are  dozens  of  corners. 
Logic  like  yours,  my  boy,  would  have  you  go  on  picking  at 
the  Gordian  Knot  till  it  became  a  jackasses'  race  between 
you  and  the  rope  which  was  to  fall  to  pieces  last.  —  There's 
my  old  girl  at  the  stall,  poor  soul!    See  her!" 


INTRODUCING  A  NEW  CHARACTER      121 

Philip  had  signalled  a  cabman  to  stop.  He  stood  facing 
his  cousin  with  a  close-lipped  smile  that  summarised  his 
opinion  and  made  it  readable. 

"  I  have  no  time  for  an  introduction  to  her  this  morning," 
he  said. 

"You  won't  drop  in  on  Distell  to  hear  the  latest  brew- 
ing? And,  by  the  by,  Phil,  tell  us,  could  you  give  us  a 
hint  for  packing  five  or  six  hundred  rifles  and  a  couple  of 
pieces  of  cannon?" 

Philip  stared;  he  bent  a  lowering  frown  on  his  cousin, 
with  a  twitch  at  his  mouth. 

"Oh!  easy!"  Con  answered  the  look;  "it's  for  another 
place  and  harder  to  get  at." 

He  was  eyed  suspiciously  and  he  vowed  the  military 
weapons  were  for  another  destination  entirely,  the  opposite 
Pole. 

"No,  you  wouldn't  be  in  for  a  crazy  villainy  like  that!" 
said  Philip. 

"No,  nor  wink  to  it,"  said  Con.  "But  it's  a  question 
about  packing  cannon  and  small  arms;  and  you  might  be 
useful  in  dropping  a  hint  or  two.  The  matter's  innocent. 
It's  not  even  a  substitution  of  one  form  of  Government  for 
another:  only  a  change  of  despots,  I  suspect.  And  here's 
Mr.  John  Mattock  himself,  who'll  corroborate  me,  as  far 
as  we  can  let  you  into  the  secret  before  we've  consulted 
together.  And  he's  an  Englishman  and  a  member  of 
Parliament,  and  a  Liberal  though  a  landlord,  a  thorough 
stout  Briton  and  bulldog  for  the  national  integrity,  not 


IZZ  CELT  AND   SAXON 

likely  to  play  at  arms  and  ammunition  where  his  country's 
prosperity's  concerned.  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Mattock  — 
and  opportunely,  since  it's  my  cousin.  Captain  Pliilip 
O'Donnell,  aide-de-camp  to  Sir  Charles,  fresh  from  Can- 
ada, of  whom  you've  heard,  I'd  like  to  make  you  acquainted 
with,  previous  to  your  meeting  at  my  wife's  table  to-morrow 
evening." 

Philip  bowed  to  a  man  whose  notion  of  the  ceremony 
was  to  nod. 

Con  took  him  two  steps  aside  and  did  all  the  talking. 
Mr.  Mattock  listened  attentively  the  first  half-minute,  aftCi 
which  it  could  be  perceived  that  the  orator  was  besieging 
a  post,  or  in  other  words  a  Saxon's  mind  made  up  on  a  point 
of  common  sense.  His  appearance  was  rodolently  marine; 
his  pilot  coat,  flying  necktie  and  wideish  trowsers,  a  general 
airiness  of  style  on  a  solid  frame,  spoke  of  the  element  his 
blue  eyes  had  dipped  their  fancy  in,  from  hereditary 
inclination.  The  colour  of  a  sandpit  was  given  him  by 
hair  and  whiskers  of  yellow-red  on  a  ruddy  face.  No  one 
could  express  a  negative  more  emphatically  without  word- 
ing it,  though  he  neither  frowned  nor  gesticulated  to  that 
effect. 

"Ah!"  said  Con,  abruptly  coming  to  an  end  after  an 
eloquent  appeal.  "And  I  think  I'm  of  your  opinion:  and 
the  sea  no  longer  dashes  at  the  rock,  but  makes  itself  a 
mirror  to  the  same.  She'll  keep  her  money  and  nurse  her 
babe,  and  not  be  trying  risky  adventures  to  turn  him  into 
a  reigning  prince.     Only  this:  you'll  have  to  persuade  her 


INTRODUCING  A  NEW  CHARACTER  123 

the  thing  is  impossible.  She'll  not  take  it  from  any  of  us. 
She  looks  on  you  as  Wisdom  in  the  uniform  of  a  great  com- 
mander, and  if  you  say  a  thing  can  be  done  it's  done." 

"The  reverse  too,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Mattock,  nodding 
and  passing  on  his  way. 

"That  I  am  not  so  sure  of,"  Con  remarked  to  himself. 
"There's  a  change  in  a  man  through  a  change  in  his 
position!  Six  months  or  so  back,  Phil,  that  man  came 
from  Vienna,  the  devoted  slave  of  the  Princess  Nikolas. 
He'd  been  there  on  his  father's  business  about  one  of  the 
Danube  railways,  and  he  was  ready  to  fill  the  place  of  the 
prince  at  the  head  of  his  phantom  body  of  horse  and  foot 
and  elsewhere.  We  talked  of  his  selling  her  estates  for  the 
purchase  of  arms  and  the  enemy  —  as  many  as  she  had 
money  for.  We  discussed  it  as  a  matter  of  business.  She 
had  bewitched  him:  and  would  again,  I  don't  doubt,  if 
she  were  here  to  repeat  the  dose.  But  in  the  interim  his 
father  dies,  he  inherits ;  and  he  enters  Parliament,  and  now, 
mind  you,  the  man  who  solemnly  calculated  her  chances 
and  speculates  on  the  transmission  of  rifled  arms  of  the 
best  manufacture  and  latest  invention  by  his  yacht  and 
with  his  loads  of  rails,  under  the  noses  of  the  authorities, 
like  a  master  rebel,  and  a  chivalrous  gentleman  to  boot, 
pooh  poohs  the  whole  affair.  You  saw  him.  Grave  as  an 
owl,  the  dead  contrary  of  his  former  self!" 

"I  thought  I  heard  you  approve  him,"  said  Philip. 

"And  I  do.  But  the  poor  girl  has  ordered  her  estates 
to  be  sold  to  cast  the  die,  and  I'm  taking  the  view  of  her 


1Z1  CELT  AND   SAXON 

disappointment,  for  she  believes  he  can  do  anything;  and 
if  I  know  the  witch,  her  sole  comfort  lying  in  the  straw  is 
the  prospect  of  a  bloody  venture  for  a  throne.  The  truth 
is,  to  my  thinking,  it's  the  only  thing  she  has  to  help  her  to 
stomach  her  husband." 

"But  it's  rank  idiocy  to  suppose  she  can  smuggle  can- 
non!" cried  Philip. 

"But  that  man  Mattock's  not  an  idiot  and  he  thought 
she  could.  And  it's  proof  he  was  under  a  spell.  She  can 
work  one." 

"The  country  hasn't  a  port." 

"Round  the  Euxine  and  up  the  Danube,  with  the 
British  flag  at  the  stern.  I  could  rather  enjoy  the  ad- 
venture. And  her  prince  is  called  for.  He's  promised  a 
good  reception  when  he  drops  down  the  river,  they  say. 
A  bit  of  a  scrimmage  on  the  landing-pier  may  be,  and  the 
first  field  or  two,  and  then  he  sits  himself,  and  he  waits  his 
turn.  The  people  change  their  sovereigns  as  rapidly  as  a 
London  purse.  Two  pieces  of  artillery  and  two  or  three 
hundred  men  and  a  trumpet  alter  the  face  of  the  land  there. 
Sometimes  a  trumpet  blown  by  impudence  does  it  alone. 
They're  enthusiastic  for  any  new  prince.  He's  their  Weekly 
Journal  or  Monthly  Magazine.  Let  them  make  acquaint- 
ance with  Adiante  Adistcr,  I'd  not  swear  she  wouldn't  lay 
fast  hold  of  them." 

Philip  signalled  to  his  driver,  and  Captain  Con  sang 
out  his  dinner-hour  for  a  reminder  to  punctuality,  thought- 
ful of  the  feelinfjs  of  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XII 


MISS   MATTOCK 


Mrs.  Adister  O'Doxxell,  in  common  with  her  family, 
had  an  extreme  disHke  of  the  task  of  composing  epistles, 
due  to  the  circumstance  that  she  was  unable,  unaided,  to 
conceive  an  idea  disconnected  with  the  main  theme  of  her 
communication,  and  regarded,  as  an  art  of  conjuring,  the 
use  of  words  independent  of  ideas.  Her  native  superiority 
caused  her  to  despise  the  art,  but  the  necessity  for  employ- 
ing it  at  intervals  subjected  her  to  fits  of  admiration  of  the 
conjurer,  it  being  then  evident  that  a  serviceable  piece  of 
work,  beyond  her  capacity  to  do,  was  lightly  performed 
by  another.  The  lady's  practical  intelligence  admitted 
the  service,  and  at  the  same  time  her  addiction  to  the  prac- 
tical provoked  disdain  of  so  flimsy  a  genius,  which  was 
identified  by  her  with  the  genius  of  the  Irish  race.  If 
Irishmen  had  not  been  notoriously  fighters,  famous  for 
their  chivalry,  she  would  have  looked  on  them  as  a  kind 
of  footmen  hired  to  talk  and  write,  whose  volubility  might 
be  encouraged  and  their  affectionateness  deserved  by 
liberal  wages.  The  promptitude  of  Irish  blood  to  deliver 
the  war-cry  either  upon  a  glove  fiung  down  or  taken  up, 
raised  them  to  a  first  place  in  her  esteem :   and  she  was  a 

125 


126  CELT  AND   SAXON 

peaceful  woman  abhorring  sanguinary  contention;  but  it 
was  in  her  own  blood  to  love  such  a  disposition  against  her 
principles. 

She  led  Patrick  to  her  private  room,  where  they  both  took 
seats  and  he  selected  a  pen.  Mr.  Patrick  supposed  that 
his  business  would  be  to  listen  and  put  her  words  to  paper; 
a  mechanical  occupation  permitting  the  indulgence  of  per- 
sonal phantasies;  and  he  was  flying  high  on  them  until  the 
extraordinary  delicacy  of  the  mind  seeking  to  deliver  itself 
forced  him  to  prick  up  all  his  apprchensiveness.  She 
wished  to  convey  that  she  was  pleased  with  the  news  from 
Vienna,  and  desired  her  gratification  to  be  imparted  to  her 
niece  Caroline,  yet  not  so  as  to  be  opposed  to  the  peculiar 
feelings  of  her  brother  Edward,  which  had  her  fullest 
sympathy;  and  yet  Caroline  must  by  no  means  be  re- 
quested to  alter  a  sentence  referring  to  Adiante,  for  that 
would  commit  her  and  the  writer  jointly  to  an  insincerity. 

"It  must  be  the  whole  truth,  madam,"  said  Patrick, 
and  he  wrote:  "My  dear  Caroline,"  to  get  the  start.  At 
once  a  magnificently  clear  course  for  the  complicated  letter 
was  distinguished  by  him.  "Can  I  write  on  and  read  it 
to  you  afterward  ?     I  have  the  view,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Adister  waved  to  him  to  write  on. 

Patrick  followed  his  "My  dear  Caroline"  with  greetings 
very  warm,  founded  on  a  report  of  her  flourishing  good 
looks.  The  decision  of  Government  to  send  reinforce- 
ments to  Ireland  was  mentioned  as  a  prelude  to  the  infor- 
mation from  Vienna  of  the  birth  of  a  son  to  the  Princess 


MISS  MATTOCK  127 

Nikolas:  and  then;  having  conjoined  the  two  entirely 
heterogeneous  pieces  of  intelligence,  the  composer  adroitly 
interfused  them  by  a  careless  transposition  of  the  prelude 
and  the  burden  that  enabled  him  to  play  ad  libitum  on 
regrets  and  rejoicings;  by  which  device  the  lord  of  Earlsfont 
might  be  offered  condolences  while  the  lady  could  express 
her  strong  contentment,  inasmuch  as  he  deplored  the  state 
of  affairs  in  the  sister  island,  and  she  was  glad  of  a  crisis 
concluding  a  term  of  suspense:  thus  the  foreign-born  baby 
was  denounced  and  welcomed,  the  circumstances  lamented 
and  the  mother  congratulated,  in  a  breath,  all  under  cover 
of  the  happiest  misunderstanding,  as  effective  as  the  cabal- 
ism  of  Prospero's  wand  among  the  Neapolitan  mariners, 
by  the  skilful  Irish  development  on  a  grand  scale  of  the 
rhetorical  figure  anastrophe,  or  a  turning  about  and  about. 

He  read  it  out  to  her,  enjoying  his  composition  and 
pleased  with  his  reconcilement  of  differences.  "So  you 
say  what  you  feel  yourself,  madam,  and  allow  for  the  feel- 
ings on  the  other  side,"  he  remarked.     "Shall  I  fold  it?" 

There  was  a  smoothness  in  the  letter  particularly  agree- 
able to  her  troubled  wits,  but  with  an  awful  taste.  She 
hesitated  to  assent:  it  seemed  like  a  drug  that  she  was 
offered. 

Patrick  sketched  a  series  of  hooked  noses  on  the  blotter. 
He  heard  a  lady's  name  announced  at  the  door,  and 
glancing  up  from  his  work  he  beheld  a  fiery  vision. 

Mrs.  Adister  addressed  her  affectionately:  "My  dear 
Jane  I"     Patrick  was  introduced  to  Miss  Mattock. 


128  CELT  AND   SAXON 

His  first  impression  was  that  the  young  lady  could 
wrestle  with  him  and  render  it  doubtful  of  his  keeping  his 
legs.  He  was  next  engaged  in  imagining  that  she  would 
certainly  burn  and  be  a  light  in  the  dark.  Afterwards  he 
discovered  her  feelings  to  be  delicate,  her  looks  pleasant. 
Thereupon  came  one  of  the  most  singular  sensations  he  had 
ever  known :  he  felt  that  he  was  unable  to  see  the  way  to 
please  her.  She  confirmed  it  by  her  remarks  and  manner 
of  speaking.     Apparently  she  was  conducting  a  business. 

"You're  right,  my  dear  Mrs.  Adister,  I'm  on  my  way  to 
the  Laundrv',  and  I  called  to  get  Captain  Con  to  drive 
there  with  me  and  worry  the  manageress  about  the  linen 
they  turn  out:  for  gentlemen  are  complaining  of  their  shirt- 
fronts,  and  if  we  get  a  bad  name  with  them  it  will  ruin  us. 
Women  will  listen  to  a  man.  I  hear  he  has  gone  down  to 
the  city.  I  must  go  and  do  it  alone.  Our  accounts  are 
flourishing,  I'm  glad  to  say,  thougli  we  cannot  yet  afford 
to  pay  for  a  secretary,  and  we  want  one,  John  and  I 
verified  them  last  night.  We're  aiming  at  steam,  you  know. 
In  three  or  four  years  we  may  found  a  steam  laundry  on 
our  accumulated  capital.  If  only  we  can  establish  it  on  a 
scale  to  let  us  give  employment  to  at  least  as  many  women 
as  we  have  working  now!  That  is  what  I  want  to  hear  of. 
But  if  we  wait  for  a  great  rival  steam  laundry  to  start  ahead 
of  us,  we  shall  be  beaten  and  have  to  depend  on  the  charita- 
ble sentiments  of  rich  people  to  support  the  Institution. 
And  that  won't  do.  So  it's  a  serious  question  with  us  to 
think  of  taking  the  initiative:  for  steam  must  come.     It's 


MISS  MATTOCK  129 

a  scandal  every  day  that  it  doesn't  while  we  have  coal.  I'm 
for  grand  measures.  At  the  same  time  we  must  not  be 
imprudent:  turning  off  hands,  even  temporarily,  that  have 
to  feed  infants,  would  be  quite  against  my  policy." 

Her  age  struck  Patrick  as  being  about  twenty-three. 

"Could  my  nephew  Arthur  be  of  any  use  to  you?"  said 
Mrs.  Adister. 

"Colonel  Adister?"  Miss  Mattock  shook  her  head. 
"No." 

"Arthur  can  be  very  energetic,  when  he  takes  up  a  thing." 

"Can  he?  But,  Mrs.  Adister,  you  are  looking  a  little 
troubled.  Sometimes  you  confide  in  me.  You  are  so 
good  to  us  with  your  subscriptions  that  I  always  feel  in 
your  debt." 

Patrick  glanced  at  his  hostess  for  a  signal  to  rise  and 
depart. 

She  gave  none,  but  at  once  unfolded  her  perplexity,  and 
requested  Miss  Mattock  to  peruse  the  composition  of  Mr. 
Patrick  O'Donnell  and  deliver  an  opinion  upon  it. 

The  young  lady  took  the  letter  without  noticing  its 
author.  She  read  it  through,  handed  it  back,  and  sat  with 
her  opinion  evidently  formed  within. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  she  was  asked. 

"Rank  Jesuitry,"  she  replied. 

"I  feared  so!"  sighed  Mrs.  Adister.  "Yet  it  says  every- 
thing I  wish  to  have  said.  It  spares  my  brother  and  it  docs 
not  belie  me.  The  effect  of  a  letter  is  often  most  important. 
I  cannot  but  consider  this  letter  very  ingenious.     But  the 


130  CELT  AND   SAXON 

moment  I  hear  it  is  Jesuitical  I  forswear  it.  But  then  my 
dilemma  remains.  I  cannot  consent  to  give  pain  to  my 
brother  Edward:  nor  will  I  speak  an  untruth,  though  it 
be  to  save  him  from  a  wound.  I  am  indeed  troubled.  Mr. 
Patrick,  I  cannot  consent  to  despatch  a  Jesuitical  letter. 
You  are  sure  of  your  impression,  my  dear  Jane?" 
"Perfectly,"  said  Miss  Mattock. 

Patrick  leaned  to  her.  "But  if  the  idea  in  the  mind 
of  the  person  supposed  to  be  writing  the  letter  is  accurately 
expressed  ?  Does  it  matter,  if  we  call  it  Jesuitical,  if  the 
emotion  at  work  behind  it  happens  to  be  a  trifle  so,  accord- 
ing to  your  definition?" 

She  rejoined:     "I  should  say,  distinctly  it  matters." 
"Then  you'd  not  express  the  emotions  at  all?" 
He  flashed  a  comical  look  of  astonishment  as  he  spoke. 
She  was  not  to  be  diverted;   she  settled  into  antagonism. 
"I  should  write  what  I  felt." 
"But  it  might  be  like  discharging  a  bullet." 
"How?" 

"If  your  writing  in  that  way  wounded  the  receiver." 
"Of  course  I  should  endeavour  not  to  wound!" 
"And  there  the  bit  of  Jesuitry  begins.     And  it's  innocent 
while  it's  no  worse  than  an  effort  to  do  a  disagreeable  thing 
as  delicately  as  you  can." 

She  shrugged  as  delicately  as  she  could: 
"We  cannot  possibly  please  everybody  in  life." 
"No;   only  we  may  spare  them  a  shock:  mayn't  we?" 
"Sophistries  of  any  description,  I  detest." 


MISS  MATTOCK  131 

"But  sometimes  you  smile  to  please,  don't  you?" 

"Do  you  detect  falseness  in  that?"  she  answered,  after 
the  demurest  of  pauses. 

"No:  but  isn't  there  a  soupcon  of  sophistry  in  it?" 

"I  should  say  that  it  comes  under  the  title  of  common 
civility." 

"And  on  occasions  a  little  extra  civility  is  permitted  1" 

"Perhaps:  when  we  are  not  seeking  a  personal  advan- 
tage." 

"On  behalf  of  the  Steam  Laundry?" 

Miss  Mattock  grew  restless:  she  was  too  serious  in 
defending  her  position  to  submit  to  laugh,  and  his  good- 
humoured  face  forbade  her  taking  offence.  "Well,  per- 
haps, for  that  is  in  the  interest  of  others." 

"In  the  interests  of  poor  and  helpless  females.  And  I 
agree  with  you  with  all  my  heart.  But  you  would  not  be 
so  considerate  for  the  sore  feelings  of  a  father  hearing  what 
he  hates  to  hear  as  to  write  a  roundabout  word  to  soften 
bad  news  to  him  ? " 

She  sought  refuge  in  the  reply  that  nothing  excused 
Jesuitry. 

"Except  the  necessities  of  civilisation,"  said  Patrick. 

"Politeness  is  one  thing,"  she  remarked  pointedly. 

"And  domestic  politeness  is  quite  as  needful  as  popular, 
you'll  admit.  And  what  more  have  we  done  in  the  letter 
than  to  be  guilty  of  that?  And  people  declare  it's  rarer: 
as  if  we  were  to  be  shut  up  in  families  to  tread  on  one 
another's  corns !     Dear  me !  and  after  a  time  we  should  be 


162  CELT  AND   SAXON 

having  rank  Jesuitry  advertised  as  the  specific  balsam  for 
an  unhappy  domesticated  population  treading  with  hard 
heels  from  desperate  habit  and  not  the  slightest  intention 
to  wound." 

"My  dear  Jane,"  Mrs.  Adister  interposed  while  the 
young  lady  sat  between  mildly  staring  and  blinking,  "you 
have,  though  still  of  a  tender  age,  so  excellent  a  head  that 
I  could  trust  to  your  counsel  blindfolded.  It  is  really  deep 
concern  for  my  brother.  I  am  also  strongly  in  s}'mpathy 
with  my  niece,  the  princess,  that  beautiful  Adiante:  and 
my  conscience  declines  to  let  me  say  that  I  am  not." 

"We  might  perhaps  presume  to  beg  for  Miss  Mattock's 
assistance  in  the  composition  of  a  second  letter  more  to  her 
taste,"  Patrick  said  slyly. 

The  effect  was  prompt:   she  sprang  from  her  seat. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Adister!  I  leave  it  to  you.  I  am  certain 
you  and  Mr.  O'Donnell  know  best.  It's  too  difficult  and 
delicate  for  me.  I  am  horribly  blunt.  Forgive  me  if  I 
seemed  to  pretend  to  casuistry.  I  am  sure  I  had  no  such 
meaning.  I  said  what  I  thought.  I  always  do.  I  never 
meant  that  it  was  not  a  very  clever  letter;  and  if  it  does 
exactly  what  you  require  it  should  be  satisfactory.  To- 
morrow evening  John  and  I  dine  with  you,  and  I  look 
forward  to  plenty  of  controversy  and  amusement.  At 
present  I  have  only  a  head  for  work." 

"I  wish  I  had  that,"  said  Patrick  devoutly. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  on  him,  but  without  letting  him  per- 
ceive that  he  was  a  step  nearer  to  the  point  of  pleasing  her. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE   DINNER   PABTY 


Miss  Mattock  ventured  on  a  prediction  in  her  mind: 
She  was  sure  the  letter  would  go.  And  there  was  not  much 
to  signify  if  it  did.  But  the  curious  fatality  that  a  person 
of  such  a  native  uprightness  as  Mrs.  Adister  should  have 
been  drawn  in  among  Irishmen,  set  her  thoughts  upon  the 
composer  of  the  letter,  and  upon  the  contrast  of  his  in- 
genuous look  with  the  powerful  cast  of  his  head.  She 
fancied  a  certain  danger  about  him ;  of  what  kind  she  could 
not  quite  distinguish,  for  it  had  no  reference  to  woman's 
heart,  and  he  was  too  young  to  be  much  of  a  politician,  and 
he  was  not  in  the  priesthood.  His  transparency  was  of 
a  totally  different  order  from  Captain  Con's,  which  pro- 
claimed itself  genuine  by  the  inability  to  conceal  a  shoal 
of  subterfuges.  The  younger  cousin's  features  carried  a 
something  invisible  behind  them,  and  she  was  just  per- 
ceptive enough  to  spy  it,  and  it  excited  her  suspicions. 
Irishmen  both  she  and  her  brother  had  to  learn  to  like, 
owing  to  their  bad  repute  for  stability:  they  are,  moreover, 
Papists :  they  are  not  given  to  ideas :  that  one  of  the  working 
for  the  future  has  not  struck  them.  In  fine,  they  are  not 
solid,  not  law-supporting,  not  disposed  to  be  (humbly  be  it 

i3S 


134  CELT  AND   SAXON 

said)  beneficent,  like  the  good  English.  These  were  her 
views,  and  as  she  held  it  a  weakness  to  have  to  confess 
that  Irishmen  are  socially  more  fascinating  than  the  good 
English,  she  was  on  her  guard  against  them. 

Of  course  the  letter  had  gone.  She  heard  of  it  before 
the  commencement  of  the  dinner,  after  Mrs.  Adister  had 
introduced  Captain  Philip  O'Donnell  to  her,  and  while 
she  was  exchanging  a  word  or  two  with  Colonel  Adister, 
who  stood  ready  to  conduct  her  to  the  table.  If  he  ad- 
dressed any  remarks  to  the  lady  under  his  charge,  Miss 
Mattock  did  not  hear  him ;  and  she  listened  —  who  shall 
say  why?  His  unlike  hkeness  to  his  brother  had  struck 
her.  Patrick  opposite  was  flowing  in  speech.  But  Cap- 
tain PhiUp  O'Donnell's  taciturnity  seemed  no  uncivil 
gloom:  it  wore  nothing  of  that  look  of  being  beneath  the 
table,  which  some  of  our  good  English  are  guilty  of  at  their 
social  festivities,  or  of  towering  aloof  a  Matterhorn  above 
it,  in  the  style  of  Colonel  Adister.  Her  discourse  with  the 
latter  amused  her  passing  reflections.  They  ^tarted  a 
subject,  and  he  punctuated  her  observations,  or  she  his. 
and  so  they  speedily  ran  to  earth. 

"I  think,"  says  she,  "you  were  in  Egypt  this  time  last 
winter." 

He  supplies  her  with  a  comma:     "Rather  later." 

Then  he  carries  on  the  Hne.  "Dull  enough,  if  you  don't 
have  the  right  sort  of  travelling  crew  in  your  boat." 

"Naturally,"  she  puts  her  semicolon,  ominous  of  the 
full  stop. 


THE  DINNER  PARTY  135 

"I  fancy  you  have  never  been  in  Egypt  ?" 

"No." 

There  it  is;  for  the  tone  betrays  no  curiosity  about 
Egypt  and  her  Nile,  and  he  is  led  to  suppose  that  she  has  a 
distaste  for  foreign  places. 

Condescending  to  attempt  to  please,  which  he  has 
reason  to  wish  to  succeed  in  doing,  the  task  of  pursuing 
conversational  intercourse  devolves  upon  him: 

"  I  missed  Parlatti  last  spring.  What  opinion  have  you 
formed  of  her?" 

"I  know  her  only  by  name  at  present." 

"Ah,  I  fancy  you  are  indifferent  to  Opera." 

"Not  at  all;  I  enjoy  it.  I  was  as  busy  then  as  I  am 
now." 

"Meetings?     Dorcas,  so  forth." 

"Not  Dorcas,  I  assure  you.  You  might  join  if  you 
would." 

"Your  most  obliged." 

A  period  perfectly  rounded.  At  the  same  time  Miss 
Mattock  exchanged  a  smile  with  her  hostess,  of  whose 
benignant  designs  in  handing  her  to  the  entertaining  officer 
she  was  not  conscious.  She  felt  bound  to  look  happy  to 
gratify  an  excellent  lady  presiding  over  the  duller  half  of  a 
table  of  eighteen.  She  turned  slightly  to  Captain  O'Don- 
nell.  He  had  committed  himself  to  speech  at  last,  without 
tilting  his  shoulders  to  exclude  the  company  by  devoting 
himself  to  his  partner,  and  as  he  faced  the  table  Miss 
Mattock's  inclination  to  listen  attracted  him.     He  cast  his 


136  CELT  AND  SAXON 

eyes  on  her:  a  quiet  look,  neither  languid  nor  frigid,  seem- 
ing to  her  both  open  and  uninviting.  She  had  the  oddest 
little  shiver,  due  to  she  knew  not  what.  A  scrutiny  she 
could  have  borne,  and  she  might  have  read  a  signification; 
but  the  look  of  those  mild  clear  eyes  which  appeared  to  say 
nothing  save  that  there  was  fire  behind  them,  hit  on  some 
perplexity,  or  created  it ;  for  she  was  aware  of  his  unhappy 
passion  for  the  beautiful  Miss  Adister;  the  whole  story 
had  been  poured  into  her  ears;  she  had  been  moved  by  it. 
Possibly  she  had  expected  the  eyes  of  such  a  lover  to  betray 
melancholy,  and  his  power  of  containing  the  expression 
where  the  sentiment  is  imagined  to  be  most  transparent 
may  have  surprised  her,  thrilling  her  as  melancholy  orbs 
would  not  have  done. 

Captain  Con  could  have  thumped  his  platter  with 
vexation.  His  wife's  diplomacy  in  giving  the  heiress  to 
Colonel  Adister  for  the  evening  had  received  his  cordial 
support  while  he  manoeuvred  cleverly  to  place  Philip  on 
ihe  other  side  of  her;  and  now  not  a  step  did  the  senseless 
fellow  take,  though  she  offered  him  his  chance,  dead  sick 
of  her  man  on  the  right;  not  a  word  did  he  have  in  ordinary 
civility;  he  was  a  burning  disgrace  to  the  chivalry  of  Erin. 
She  would  certainly  be  snapped  up  by  a  man  merely 
yawning  to  take  the  bite.  And  there's  another  opportunity 
gone  for  the  old  country!  —  one's  family  to  boot! 

Those  two  were  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  and  it  is 
beyond  mortal,  beyond  Irish,  capacity,  from  one  end  of 
a  table  of  eighteen  to  whip  up  the  whole  body  of  them  into 


THE  DINNER  PARTY  137 

a  lively  unanimous  froth,  like  a  dish  of  cream  fetched  out 
of  thickness  to  the  airiest  lightness.  Politics,  in  the  form 
of  a  firebrand  or  apple  of  Discord,  might  knead  them 
together  and  cut  them  in  batches,  only  he  had  pledged  his 
word  to  his  wife  to  shun  politics  as  the  plague,  considering 
Mr.  Mattock's  presence.  And  yet  it  was  tempting:  the 
recent  Irish  news  had  stung  him ;  he  could  say  sharp  things 
from  the  heart,  give  neat  thrusts;  and  they  were  fairly 
divided  and  well  matched.  There  was  himself,  a  giant; 
and  there  was  an  unrecognised  bard  of  his  country,  no 
other  than  himself  too;  and  there  was  a  profound  politician, 
profoundly  hidden  at  present,  like  powder  in  a  mine  —  the 
same  person.  And  opposite  to  him  was  Mr.  John  Mattock, 
a  worthy  antagonist,  delightful  to  rouse,  for  he  carried  big 
guns  and  took  the  noise  of  them  for  the  shattering  of  the 
enemy,  and  this  champion  could  be  pricked  on  to  a  point 
of  assertion  sure  to  fire  the  phlegm  in  Philip;  and  then 
young  Patrick  might  be  trusted  to  warm  to  the  work. 
Three  heroes  out  skirmishing  on  our  side.  Then  it  begins 
to  grow  hot,  and  seeing  them  at  it  in  earnest,  Forbery  glows 
and  couches  his  gun,  the  heaviest  weight  of  the  Irish  light 
brigade.  Gallant  deeds!  and  now  Mr.  Marbury  Dyke 
opens  on  Forbery's  flank  to  support  Mattock  hard-pressed, 
and  this  artillery  of  English  Rockney  resounds,  with  a 
similar  object :  the  ladies  to  look  on  and  award  the  crown 
of  victor}',  Saxon  though  they  be,  excepting  Rockney's 
wife,  a  sure  deserter  to  the  camp  of  the  brave,  should 
fortune  frown  on  them,  for  a  punishment  to  Rockney  for 


It5»  CELT  AND  SAXON 

his  carrying  off  to  himself  a  flower  of  the  Green  Island  and 
holding  inveterate  against  her  native  land  in  his  black 
ingratitude.  Ohl  but  eloquence  upon  a  good  cause  will 
win  you  the  hearts  of  all  women,  Saxon  or  other,  never 
doubt  of  it.  And  Jane  Mattock  there,  imbibing  forced 
doses  of  Arthur  Adister,  will  find  her  patriotism  dissolving 
in  the  natural  human  current;  and  she  and  Philip  have 
a  pretty  wrangle,  and  like  one  another  none  the  worse  for 
not  agreeing:  patriotically  speaking,  she's  really  unrooted 
by  that  half-thawed  colonel,  a  creature  snow-bound  up  to 
his  chin;  and  already  she's  leaping  to  be  transplanted. 
Jane  is  one  of  the  first  to  give  her  vote  for  the  Irish  party, 
in  spite  of  her  love  for  her  brother  John:  in  common 
justice,  she  says,  and  because  she  hopes  for  complete  union 
between  the  two  islands.  And  thereupon  we  debate  upon 
union.  On  the  whole,  yes:  union,  on  the  understanding 
that  we  have  justice,  before  you  think  of  setting  to  work 
to  sow  the  land  with  affection :  —  and  that's  a  crop  in  a 
clear  soil  will  spring  up  harvest-thick  in  a  single  summer 
night  across  St.  George's  Channel,  ladies!  .  .  . 

Indeed  a  goodly  vision  of  strife  and  peace:  but,  politics 
forbidden,  it  was  entirely  a  dream,  seeing  that  politics 
alone,  and  a  vast  amount  of  blowing  even  on  the  topic  of 
politics,  will  stir  these  English  to  enter  the  arena  and  try 
a  fall.  You  cannot,  until  you  say  ten  times  more  than  you 
began  by  meaning,  and  have  heated  yourself  to  fancy  you 
mean  more  still,  get  them  into  any  state  of  fluency  at  all. 
Forbery's  anecdote  now  and  then  serves  its  turn,  but  thesp 


THE  DINNER  PARTY  139 

English  won't  take  it  up  as  a  start  for  fresh  pastures;  they 
lend  their  ears  and  laugh  a  finale  to  it;  you  see  them 
dwelling  on  the  relish,  chewing  the  cud,  by  way  of  mental 
note  for  their  friends  to-morrow,  as  if  they  were  kettles 
come  here  merely  for  boiling  purposes,  to  make  tea  else- 
where, and  putting  a  damper  on  the  fire  that  does  the 
business  for  them.  They  laugh,  but  they  laugh  extinguish- 
ingly,  and  not  a  bit  to  spread  a  general  conflagration  and 
illumination. 

The  case  appeared  hopeless  to  Captain  Con,  bearing  an 
eye  on  Philip.  He  surveyed  his  inanimate  eights  right  and 
left,  and  folded  his  combative  ardour  around  him,  as  the 
soldier's  martial  cloak  when  he  takes  his  rest  on  the  field. 
Mrs.  Marbury  Dyke,  the  lady  under  his  wing,  honoured 
wife  of  the  chairman  of  his  company,  imagined  that  a  sigh 
escaped  him,  and  said  in  sympathy:  "Is  the  bad  news 
from  India  confirmed?" 

He  feared  it  was  not  bright,  and  called  to  Philip  for  the 
latest. 

"Nothing  that  you  have  not  had  already  in  the  news- 
papers," Philip  replied,  distinctly  from  afar,  but  very 
bluntly,  as  through  a  trumpet. 

Miss  Mattock  was  attentive.  She  had  a  look  as  good  as 
handsome  when  she  kindled. 

The  captain  persevered  to  draw  his  cousin  out. 

"Your  chief  has  his  orders?" 

"There's  a  rumour  to  that  effect." 

"The  fellow's  training  for  diplomacy,"  Con  groaned. 


14U  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Philip  spoke  to  Miss  Mattock:  he  was  questioned  and 
he  answered,  and  answered  dead  as  a  newspaper  telegraphic 
paragraph,  presenting  simply  the  corpse  of  the  fact,  and 
there  an  end.  He  was  a  rival  of  Arthur  Adister  for  military 
brevity. 

"Your  nephew  is  quite  the  diplomatist,"  said  Mrs. 
Dyke,  admiring  Philip's  head. 

"Cousin,  ma'am.  Nephews  I  might  drive  to  any  mar- 
ket to  make  the  most  of  them.  Cousins  pretend  they're 
better  than  pigs,  and  diverge  bounding  from  the  road  at  the 
hint  of  the  stick.  You  can't  get  them  to  grunt  more  than 
is  exactly  agreeable  to  them." 

"My  belief  is  that  if  our  cause  is  just  our  flag  will 
triumph,"  Miss  Grace  Barrow,  Jane  Mattock's  fellow- 
worker  and  particular  friend,  observed  to  Dr.  Forbery. 

"You  may  be  enjoying  an  original  blessing  that  we  in 
Ireland  missed  in  the  cradle,"  said  he. 

She  emphasised:  "I  speak  of  the  just  cause;  it  must 
succeed." 

"The  stainless  flag'll  be  in  the  ascendant  in  the  long- 
run,"  he  assented. 

"Is  it  the  flag  of  Great  Britain  you're  speaking  of, 
Forbery?"  the  captain  inquired. 

"There's  a  harp  or  two  in  it,"  he  responded  pacifically. 

Mrs.  Dyke  w^as  not  pleased  with  the  tone.  "And  never 
will  be  out  of  itl"  she  thumped  her  interjection. 

"Or  where's  your  music?"  said  the  captain,  twinkling 
for  an  adversary  among  the  males,  too  distant  or  too  dull 


THE   DINNER  PARTY  141 

to  distinguish  a  note  of  challenge.  "Yoru'd  be  having  to 
mount  your  drum  and  fife  in  their  places,  ma'am." 

She  saw  no  fear  of  the  necessity. 

"But  the  fife's  a  pretty  instrument,"  he  suggested,  and 
with  a  candour  that  seduced  the  unwary  lady  to  think 
dubiously  whether  she  quite  liked  the  fife.  Miss  Barrow 
pronounced  it  cheerful. 

"Oh,  and  martial  1"  he  exclaimed,  happy  to  have  caught 
Rockney's  deliberate  gaze.  "The  effect  of  it,  I'm  told, 
in  the  provinces  is  astonishing  for  promoting  enlistment. 
Hear  it  any  morning  in  your  London  parks,  at  the  head  of 
a  marching  regiment  of  your  giant  foot-Guards.  Three 
bangs  of  the  drum,  like  the  famous  mountain,  and  the 
fife  announces  himself  to  be  born,  and  they  follow  him,  left 
leg  and  right  leg  and  bearskin.  And  what  if  he's  a  small 
one  and  a  trifle  squeaky ;  so's  a  prince  when  the  attendant 
dignitaries  receive  him  submissively  and  hear  him  in- 
forming the  nation  of  his  advent.  It's  the  idea  that's 
grand." 

"The  idea  is  everything  in  military  affairs,"  a  solemn 
dupe,  a  Mr.  Rumford,  partly  bald,  of  benevolent  aspect, 
and  looking  more  copious  than  his  flow,  observed  to  the 
lady  beside  him.     "The  flag  is  only  an  idea." 

She  protested  against  the  barbarism  of  war,  and  he 
agreed  with  her,  but  thought  it  must  be:  it  had  always 
been :  he  deplored  the  fatality.  Nevertheless,  he  esteemed 
our  soldiers,  our  sailors  too.  A  city  man  himself  and  a 
man  of  peace,  he  cordiallv  esteemed  and  hailed  the  victo- 


142  CELT  AND   SAXON 

lies  of  a  military  body  whose  idea  was  Duty  instead  of 
\mbition. 

"One  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Dyke,  evading  the  ambiguous 
fife,  "patriotic  as  I  am,  I  hope,  one  thing  I  confess;  I  never 
have  yet  brought  myself  to  venerate  thoroughly  our  Royal 
Standard.     I  dare  say  it  is  because  I  do  not  understand  it." 

A  strong  fraternal  impulse  moved  Mr.  Rumford  to  lean 
forward  and  show  her  the  face  of  one  who  had  long  been 
harassed  by  the  same  incapacity  to  digest  that  one  thing. 
He  guessed  it  at  once,  without  a  doubt  of  the  accuracy  of 
the  shot.  Ever  since  he  was  a  child  the  difficulty  had 
haunted  him;  and  as  no  one  hitherto  had  even  compre- 
hended his  dilemma,  he  beamed  like  a  man  preparing  to 
embrace  a  recovered  sister. 

"The  Unicorn!"  he  exclaimed. 

"It  is  the  Unicorn!"  she  sighed.     "The  Lion  is  noble." 

"The  Unicorn,  if  I  may  speak  by  my  own  feelings,  cer- 
tainly does  not  inspire  attachment,  that  is  to  say,  the  sense 
of  devotion,  which  we  should  always  be  led  to  see  in  national 
symbols,"  Mr.  Rumford  resumed,  and  he  looked  humor- 
ously rueful  while  speaking  with  some  earnestness,  to  show 
that  he  knew  the  subject  to  be  of  the  minor  sort,  though  it 
was  not  enough  to  trip  and  jar  a  loyal  enthusiasm  in  the 
strictly  meditative. 

"The  Saxon  should  carry  his  White  Horse,  I  suppose," 
Dr.  Forbery  said. 

"But  how  do  we  account  for  the  horn  on  his  forehead?" 
Mr.  Rumford  sadly  queried. 


THE  DINNER  PARTY  ]  i3 

"Two  would  have  been  better  for  the  harmony  of  the 
Unicorn's  appearance,"  Captain  Con  remarked,  desirous 
to  play  a  floundering  fish,  and  tender  to  the  known  simple 
goodness  of  the  ingenuous  man.  "What  do  you  say, 
Forbery?  The  poor  brute  had  a  fall  on  his  pate  and  his 
horn  grew  of  it,  and  it's  to  prove  that  he  has  got  something 
in  his  head,  and  is  dangerous  both  fore  and  aft,  which  is 
not  the  case  with  other  horses,  who're  usually  wicked  at 
the  heels  alone.  That's  it,  be  sure,  or  near  it.  And  his 
horn's  there  to  file  the  subject  nation's  grievances  for  the 
Lion  to  peruse  at  his  leisure.  And  his  colour's  prophetic 
of  the  Horse  to  come,  that  rides  over  all." 

"Lion  and  Unicorn  signify  the  conquest  of  the  two 
hemispheres.  Matter  and  Mind,"  said  Dr.  Forbery.  "The 
Lion  there's  no  mistake  about.  The  Unicom  sets  you 
thinking.  So  it's  a  splendid  Standard,  and  means  the 
more  for  not  being  perfectly  intelligible  at  a  glance." 

"But  if  the  Lion,  as  they've  whispered  of  late,  Forbery, 
happens  to  be  stuffed  with  straw  or  with  what's  worse, 
with  sawdust,  a  fellow  bearing  a  pointed  horn  at  close 
quarters  might  do  him  mortal  harm;  and  it  must  be  a 
situation  trying  to  the  patience  of  them  both.  The  Lion 
seems  to  say,  'No  prancing!'  as  if  he  knew  his  peril;  and 
the  Unicom  to  threaten  a  plaj-f  ul  dig  at  his  flank,  as  if  he 
understood  where  he's  ticklish." 

Mr.  Rumford  drank  some  champagne  and  murmured 
with  a  shrug  to  the  acquiescent  lady  beside  him:  "Irish- 
men I "  implying  that  the  race  could  not  be  brought  to  treat 


144  CELT  AND  SAXON 

serious  themes  as  befitted  the  seriousness  of  the  sentiments 
they  stir  in  their  bosoms.  He  was  personally  a  little  hurt, 
having  unfolded  a  shy  secret  of  his  feelings,  which  were 
keenly  patriotic  in  a  phlegmatic  frame,  and  he  retired 
within  himself,  assuring  the  lady  that  he  accepted  our 
standard  in  its  integrity;  his  objection  was  not  really  an 
objection;  it  was,  he  explained  to  her,  a  ridiculous  desire 
to  have  a  perfect  comprehension  of  the  idea  in  the  s\'mbol. 
But  where  there  was  no  seriousness  everything  was  made 
absurd.  He  could,  he  said,  laugh  as  well  as  others  on  the 
proper  occasion.  As  for  the  Lion  being  stuffed,  he  warned 
England's  enemies  for  their  own  sakes  not  to  be  deluded 
by  any  such  patent  calumny.  The  strong  can  afford  to  be 
magnanimous  and  forbearing.  Only  let  not  that  be  mis- 
taken for  weakness.     A  wag  of  his  tail  would  suffice. 

The  lady  agreed.  But  women  are  volatile.  She  was 
the  next  moment  laughing  at  something  she  had  heard  with 
the  largest  part  of  her  ear,  and  she  thought  the  worthy 
gentleman  too  simple,  though  she  knew  him  for  one  who 
had  amassed  wealth.  Captain  Con  and  Dr.  Forbery  had 
driven  the  Unicom  to  shelter,  and  were  now  baiting  the 
Lion.  The  tremendous  import  of  that  wag  of  his  tail 
among  the  nations  was  burlesqued  by  them,  and  it  came 
into  collision  with  Mr.  Rumford's  legendary  forefinger 
threat.  She  excused  herself  for  laughing:  "They  are  so 
preposterous!" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can  laugh,"  said  he,  soberly  performing  the 
act:    and  Mr.  Rumford  covered  the  wound  his  delicate 


THE   DINNER  PARTY  145 

sensations  had  experienced  under  an  apology  for  Captain 
Con,  that  would  redound  to  the  credit  of  his  artfulness  were 
it  not  notorious  our  sensations  are  the  creatures  and  bom 
doctors  of  art  in  discovering  unguents  for  healing  their 
bruises.  "  O'Donnell  has  a  shrewd  head  for  business.  He 
is  sound  at  heart.     There  is  not  a  drop  of  gout  in  his  wine." 

The  lady  laughed  again,  as  we  do  when  we  are  fairly 
swung  by  the  tide,  and  underneath  her  convulsion  she 
quietly  mused  on  the  preference  she  would  give  to  the  sim- 
ple English  citizen  for  soundness. 

"What  can  they  be  discussing  down  there?"  Miss  Mat- 
tock said  to  Philip,  enviously  as  poor  Londoners  in  Novem- 
ber when  they  receive  letters  from  the  sapphire  Riviera. 

"I  will  venture  to  guess  at  nonsense,"  he  answered. 

"Nothing  political,  then." 

"That  scarcely  follows;  but  a  host  at  his  own  table  may 
be  trusted  to  shelve  politics." 

"I  should  not  object." 

"To  controversy?" 

"Temperately  conducted." 

"One  would  go  a  long  way  to  see  the  exhibition." 

"But  why  cannot  men  be  temperate  in  their  political 
arguments?" 

"The  questions  raised  are  too  close  about  the  roots  of 
us." 

"That  sounds  very  pessimist." 

"More  duels  come  from  politics  than  from  any  other 
source." 


146  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"I  fear  it  is  true.  Then  women  might  set  you  an 
example." 

"By  avoiding  it?" 

"I  think  you  have  been  out  of  England  for  some  time." 

"I  have  been  in  America." 

"We  are  not  exactly  on  the  pattern  of  the  Americans." 

Philip  hinted  a  bow.     He  praised  the  Republican  people. 

"Yes,  but  in  our  own  way  we  are  working  out  our  own 
problems  over  here,"  said  she.  "We  have  infinitely  more 
to  contend  with:  old  institutions,  monstrous  prejudices, 
and  a  slower-minded  people,  I  dare  say:  much  slower,  I 
admit.  We  are  not  shining  to  advantage  at  present.  Still, 
that  is  not  the  fault  of  English  women." 

"Are  they  so  spirited?" 

Spirited  was  hardly  the  word  jNIiss  Mattock  would  have 
chosen  to  designate  the  spirit  in  them.  She  hummed  a 
second  or  two,  deliberating;  it  flashed  through  her  during 
the  pause  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  irony,  and  she  red- 
dened :  and  remembering  a  foregoing  strange  sensation  she 
reddened  more.  She  had  been  in  her  girlhood  a  martyr  to 
this  malady  of  youth;  it  had  tied  her  to  the  stake  and 
enveloped  her  in  flames  for  no  accountable  reason,  causing 
her  to  suffer  cruelly  and  feel  humiliated.  She  knew  the 
pangs  of  it  in  public,  and  in  private  as  well.  And  she  had 
not  conquered  it  yet.  She  was  angered  to  find  herself 
such  a  merely  physical  victim  of  the  rushing  blood:  which 
condition  of  her  senses  did  not  immediately  restore  her 
natural  colour. 


THE   DINNER  PARTY  147 

"They  mean  nobly,"  she  said,  to  fill  an  extending  gap 
in  the  conversation  under  a  blush;  and  conscious  of  an 
ultra-swollen  phrase,  she  snatched  at  it  nervously  to  correct 
it:  "They  are  becoming  alive  to  the  necessity  for  action." 
But  she  was  talking  to  a  soldier!  "I  mean,  their  heads  are 
opening."  It  sounded  ludicrous.  "They  are  educating 
themselves  differently."  Were  they  ?  "They  wish  to  take 
their  part  in  the  work  of  the  world."  That  was  nearer  the 
proper  tone,  though  it  had  a  ring  of  claptrap  rhetoric  hate- 
ful to  her:  she  had  read  it  and  shrunk  from  it  in  reports 
of  otherwise  laudable  meetings.  "Well,  spirited,  yes.  I 
think  they  are.  I  believe  they  are.  One  has  need  to 
hope  so." 

Philip  offered  a  polite  affirmative,  evidently  formal. 
Not  a  sign  had  he  shown  of  noticing  her  state  of  scarlet. 
His  grave  liquid  eyes  were  unalterable.  She  might  have 
been  grateful,  but  the  reflection  that  she  had  made  a  step 
to  unlock  the  antechamber  of  her  dearest  deepest  matters 
to  an  ordinary  military  officer,  whose  notions  of  women 
were  probably  those  of  his  professional  brethren,  impelled 
her  to  transfer  his  polished  decorousness  to  the  burden  of 
his  masculine  antagonism  —  plainly  visible.  She  brought 
the  dialogue  to  a  close. 

Colonel  Adister  sidled  an  eye  at  a  three-quarter  view  of 
her  face. 

"I  fancy  you're  feeling  the  heat  of  the  room,"  he  said. 

Jane  acknowledged  a  sensibility  to  some  degree  of 
warmth. 


148  CELT  AND  SAXON 

The  colonel  was  her  devoted  squire  on  the  instant  for 
any  practical  service.  His  appeal  to  his  aunt  concerning 
one  of  the  windows  was  answered  by  her  appeal  to  Jane's 
countenance  for  a  disposition  to  rise  and  leave  the  gentle- 
men. Captain  Con,  holding  the  door  for  the  passage  of 
his  wife  and  her  train  of  ladies,  received  the  injunction: 
"Ten,"  from  her,  and  remarked:  "Minutes,"  as  he  shut 
it.  The  shortness  of  the  period  of  grace  proposed  dejection 
to  him  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  a  stimulated 
activity  to  squeeze  it  for  its  juices  without  any  delay. 
Winding  past  Dr.  Forbery  to  the  vacated  seat  of  the  hostess 
he  frowned  forbiddingly. 

"It's  I,  is  it!"  cried  the  doctor.  Was  it  ever  he  that 
endangered  the  peace  and  placability  of  social  gatherings! 

He  sat  down  prepared  rather  for  a  bout  with  Captain 
Con  than  with  their  common  opponents,  notwithstanding 
that  he  had  accurately  read  the  mock  thunder  of  his  brows. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


OF   ROCKNEY 


Battles  have  been  won  and  the  streams  of  History 
diverted  to  new  channels  in  the  space  of  ten  minutes. 
Ladies  have  been  won,  a  fresh  posterity  founded,  and 
grand  financial  schemes  devised,  revolts  arranged,  a  yoke 
shaken  off,  in  less  of  mortal  time.  Excepting  an  inspired 
Epic  song  and  an  original  Theory  of  the  Heavens,  almost 
anything  noteworthy  may  be  accomplished  while  old 
Father  Scythe  is  taking  a  trot  round  a  courtyard;  and 
those  reservations  should  allow  the  splendid  conception  to 
pass  for  the  performance,  when  we  bring  to  mind  that  the 
conception  is  the  essential  part  of  it,  as  a  bard  poorly 
known  to  fame  was  constantly  urging.  Captain  Con  had 
blown  his  Epic  bubbles,  not  to  speak  of  his  projected 
tuneful  narrative  of  the  adventures  of  the  great  Cuchullin, 
and  his  Preaching  of  St.  Patrick,  and  other  national 
triumphs.  He  could  own,  however,  that  the  world  had  a 
right  to  the  inspection  of  the  Epic  books  before  it  awarded 
him  his  crown.  The  celestial  Theory  likewise  would  have 
to  be  worked  out  to  the  last  figure  by  the  illustrious  astrono- 
mers to  whom  he  modestly  ranked  himself  second  as  a 
benefactor  of  his  kind,  revering  him.     So  that,  whatever 

149 


150  CELT  AND  SAXON 

we  may  think  in  our  own  hearts,  Epic  and  Theory  have  to 
remain  the  exception.  Battles  indeed  have  been  fought, 
but  when  you  survey  the  field  in  preparation  for  them  you 
are  summoned  to  observe  the  preluding  courtesies  of  civil- 
ised warfare  in  a  manner  becoming  a  chivalrous  gentleman. 
It  never  was  the  merely  flinging  of  your  leg  across  a  frontier, 
not  even  with  the  abrupt  Napoleon.  You  have  besides 
to  drill  your  men;  and  you  have  often  to  rouse  your  foe 
with  a  ringing  slap,  if  he's  a  sleepy  one  or  shamming  sleepi- 
ness. As  here,  for  example:  and  that  of  itself  devours 
more  minutes  than  ten.  Rockney  and  ^Vlattock  could  be 
roused;  but  these  English,  slow  to  kindle,  can't  subside  in 
a  twinkling;  they  are  for  preaching  on  when  they  have 
once  begun;  betray  the  past  engagement,  and  the  ladies 
are  chilled,  and  your  wife  puts  you  the  pungent  question : 
"Did  you  avoid  politics,  Con?"  in  the  awful  solitude  of 
domestic  life  after  a  party.  Now,  if  only  there  had  been 
freedom  of  discourse  during  the  dinner  hour,  the  ten  dis- 
embarrassed minutes  allotted  to  close  it  would  have 
afforded  time  sufficient  for  hearty  finishing  blows  and  a 
soothing  word  or  so  to  dear  old  innocent  Mr.  Rumford, 
and  perhaps  a  kindly  clap  of  the  shoulder  to  John  Mattock, 
no  bad  fellow  at  bottom.  Rockney  too  was  no  bad  fellow 
in  his  way.  He  wanted  no  more  than  a  beating  and  a 
thrashing.  lie  was  a  journalist,  a  hard-headed  rascal, 
none  of  your  good  old-fashioned  order  of  regimental  scribes 
who  take  their  cue  from  tiieir  colonel,  and  march  this  way 
and  that,  rigb*  about  face,  with  as  little  impediment  of 


OF  RCCKNEY  151 

principles  to  hamper  their  twists  and  turns  as  the  straw  he 
tosses  aloft  at  midnight  to  spy  the  drift  of  the  wind  to- 
morrow. Quite  the  contrary;  Rockney  was  his  own 
colonel;  he  pretended  to  think  independently,  and  tried 
to  be  the  statesman  of  a  leading  article,  and  showed  his 
intention  to  stem  the  current  of  liberty,  and  was  entirely 
deficient  in  sympathy  with  the  oppressed,  a  fanatical  advo- 
cate of  force;  he  was  an  inveterate  Saxon,  good-hearted 
and  in  great  need  of  a  drubbing.  Certain  lines  Rockney 
had  written  of  late  about  Irish  affairs  recurred  to  Captain 
Con,  and  the  political  fires  leaped  in  him;  he  sparkled  and 
said:  "Let  me  beg  you  to  pass  the  claret  over  to  Mr. 
Rockney,  Mr.  Rumford;  I  warrant  it  for  the  circulating 
medium  of  amity,  if  he'll  try  it." 

"'Tis  the  Comet  Margaux,"  said  Dr.  Forbery,  topping 
anything  Rockney  might  have  had  to  say,  and  anything 
would  have  served.  The  latter  clasped  the  decanter, 
poured  and  drank  in  silence. 

'"Tis  the  doctor's  antidote,  and  best  for  being  ante- 
dated."    Captain  Con  rapped  his  friend's  knuckles. 

"As  long  as  you're  contented  with  not  dating  in  double 
numbers,"  retorted  the  doctor,  absolutely  scattering  the 
precious  minutes  to  the  winds,  for  he  hated  a  provocation. 

"There's  a  golden  mean,  is  there!" 

"There  is;  there's  a  way  between  magnums  of  good 
wine  and  gout,  and  it's  generally  discovered  too  late." 

"At  the  physician's  door,  then  I  where  the  golden  mean 
is  generally  discovered  to  be  his  fee.     I've  heard  of  poor 


152  CELT  AND  SAXON 

souls  packed  off  by  him  without  an  obolus  to  cross  the 
ferry.     Stripped  they  were  in  all  conscience." 

"You  remind  me  of  a  fellow  in  Dublin  who  called  on 
me  for  medical  advice,  and  found  he'd  forgotten  his  purse. 
He  offered  to  execute  a  deed  to  bequeath  me  his  body, 
naked  and  not  ashamed." 

"You'd  a  right  to  cut  him  up  at  once,  Forbery.  Any 
Jury'd  have  pronounced  him  guilty  of  giving  up  the  ghost 
before  he  called." 

"I  let  him  go,  body  and  all.     I  never  saw  him  again." 
"The  fellow  was  not  a  lunatic.     As  for  your  golden 
mean,  there's  a  saying:     Prevention  is  better  than  cure: 
and  another  that  caps  it:     Drink  deep  or  taste  not." 
"That's  the  Pierian  Spring." 
"And  what  is  the  wine  on  my  table,  sir?" 
"Exhaustless  if  your  verses  come  of  it." 
"And  pure,  you  may  say  of  the  verses  and  the  fount." 
"And  neither  heady  nor  over-composed;   with  a  blush 
like  Diana  confessing  her  love  for  the  young  shepherd :  — 
it's  one  of  your  own  comparisons." 

"Oh!"  Con  could  have  roared  his  own  comparisons  out 
of  hearing.  He  was  angry  with  Forbery  for  his  obstructive 
dulness  and  would  not  taste  the  sneaking  compliment. 
What  could  Forbery  mean  by  paying  compliments  and 
spoiling  a  game!  The  ten  minutes  were  dancing  away 
like  harmless  wood-nymphs  when  the  Satyr  slumbers. 
His  eyes  ranged  over  his  guests  despondently,  and  fixed  in 
desperation  on  Mr.   Ilumford,   whom  his  magnanimous 


OF  ROCKNEY  153 

nature  would  have  spared  but  for  the  sharp  necessity  to 
sacrifice  him. 

The  wine  in  Rumford  at  any  rate  let  loose  his  original 
nature,  if  it  failed  to  unlock  the  animal  in  these  other 
unexcitable  Saxons. 

"By  the  way,  now  I  think  of  it,  Mr.  Rumford,  the  inter- 
pretation of  your  Royal  Standard,  which  perplexes  you  so 
much,  strikes  me  as  easy  if  you'll  examine  the  powerfully 
different  colours  of  the  two  beasts  in  it." 

Mr.  Rumford  protested  that  he  had  abandoned  his 
inquiry:  it  was  a  piece  of  foolishness:  he  had  no  feeling  in 
it  whatever,  none. 

The  man  was  a  perfect  snail's  horn  for  coyness. 

The  circumstances  did  not  permit  of  his  being  suffered 
to  slip  away:  and  his  complexion  showed  that  he  might 
already  be  classed  among  the  roast. 

"Your  Lion:  —  Mr.  Rumford,  you  should  know,  is  dis- 
composed, as  a  thoughtful  patriot,  by  the  inexplicable 
presence  of  the  Unicorn  in  the  Royal  Standard,  and  would 
be  glad  to  account  for  his  one  horn  and  the  sickly  appear- 
ance of  the  beast.  I'm  prepared  to  say  he's  there  to  repre- 
sent the  fair  one  half  of  the  population.  Your  Lion,  my 
dear  sir,  may  have  nothing  in  his  head,  but  his  tawniness 
tells  us  he  imbibes  good  sound  stuff,  worthy  of  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  noble  brewery.  Whereas  your  Unicorn,  true  to 
the  character  of  the  numberless  hosts  he  stands  for,  is 
manifestly  a  consumer  of  doctor's  drugs.  And  there  you 
have  the  symbolism  of  your  country.     Right  or  left  of  the 


154  CELT  AND   SAXON 

shield,  I  forget  which,  and  it  is  of  no  importance  to  the 
point  —  you  have  Grandgosier  or  Great  Turk  in  all  his 
majesty,  mane  and  tail;  and  on  the  other  hand,  you  behold, 
as  the  showman  says.  Dyspepsia.  And  the  pair  are  in- 
tended to  indicate  that  you  may  see  yourselves  complete 
by  looking  at  them  separately;  and  so  your  Royal  Standard 
is  your  national  mirror;  and  when  you  gaze  on  it  fondly 
you're  playing  the  part  of  a  certain  Mr.  Narcissus,  who  got 
liker  to  the  Lion  than  to  the  Unicorn  in  the  act.  Now  will 
that  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"Quite  as  you  please,  quite  as  you  please,"  Mr.  Rum- 
ford  replied.  "One  loves  the  banner  of  one's  country  — 
that  is  all."  He  rubbed  his  hands.  "I  for  one  am  proud 
of  it." 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  blame  you,  my  dear  sir.  Or 
there's  the  alternative  of  taking  him  to  stand  for  your  sole 
great  festival  holiday,  and  worshipping  him  as  the  personi- 
fication of  your  Derbyshire  race." 

A  glittering  look  was  in  Captain  Con's  eye  to  catch 
Rockney  if  he  would  but  rise  to  it. 

That  doughty  Saxon  had  been  half  listening,  half  chat- 
ting to  Mr.  Mattock,  and  wore  on  his  drawn  eyelids  and 
slightly  drawn  upper  lip  a  look  of  lambent  pugnacity  awake 
to  the  challenge,  indifferent  to  the  antagonist,  and  dis- 
dainful of  the  occasion. 

"We  have  too  Httle  of  your  enthusiasm  for  the  flag," 
Philip  said  to  Mr.  Rumford  to  soothe  him,  in  a  form  of 
apology  for  his  relative. 


OF  ROCKNEY  155 

"Surely  no!  not  in  England?"  said  Mr.  Rumford, 
tempted  to  open  his  heart,  for  he  could  be  a  bellicose 
gentleman  by  deputy  of  the  flag.  He  recollected  that  the 
speaker  was  a  cousin  of  Captain  Con's,  and  withdrew  into 
his  wound  for  safety.  "Here  and  there,  perhaps;  not 
when  we  are  roused;  we  want  rousing,  we  greatly  prefer 
to  live  at  peace  with  the  world,  if  the  world  will  let  us." 

"Not  at  any  price?"  Philip  fancied  his  tone  too 
quakerly. 

"Indeed  I  am  not  one  of  that  party!"  said  Mr.  Rumford, 
beginning  to  glow;  but  he  feared  a  snare,  and  his  wound 
drew  him  in  again. 

"When  are  you  ever  at  peace!"  quoth  his  host,  shocked 
by  the  inconsiderate  punctuality  of  Mrs.  Adister  O'Don- 
nell's  household,  for  here  was  the  coffee  coming  round, 
and  Mattock  and  Rockney  escaping  without  a  scratch. 
"There's  hardly  a  day  in  the  year  when  your  scarlet  mer- 
cenaries are  not  popping  at  niggers." 

Rockney  had  the  flick  on  the  cheek  to  his  manhood  now, 
it  might  be  hoped. 

"Our  what?"  asked  Mr.  Rumford,  honestly  unable  to 
digest  the  opprobrious  term. 

"Paid  soldiery,  hirelings,  executioners,  whom  you  call 
volunteers,  by  a  charming  euphemism,  and  send  abroad  to 
do  the  work  of  war  while  you  propound  the  doctrines  of 
peace  at  home." 

Rockney's  forehead  was  exquisitely  eruptive,  red  and 
swelling.     Mattock  lurched  on  his  chair.     The  wine  was 


156  CELT  AND  SAXON 

in  them,  and  the  captain  commended  the  spiriting  of  it, 
as  Prospero  his  Ariel. 

Who  should  intervene  at  this  instant  but  the  wretched 
Philip,  pricked  on  the  point  of  honour  as  a  soldier!  Are 
Ave  inevitably  to  be  thwarted  by  our  own  people  ? 

"I  suppose  we  all  work  for  pay,"  said  he.  "It  seems  to 
me  a  cry  of  the  streets  to  call  us  by  hard  names.  The 
question  is  what  we  fight  for." 

He  spoke  with  a  witless  moderation  that  was  most  irri- 
tating, considering  the  latest  news  from  the  old  country. 

"You  fight  to  subjugate,  to  enslave,"  said  Con,  "that's 
what  you're  doing,  and  at  the  same  time  your  journals  are 
venting  their  fine  irony  at  the  Austrians  and  the  Russians 
and  the  Prussians  for  tearing  Poland  to  strips  with  their 
bloody  beaks." 

"We  obey  our  orders,  and  leave  you  to  settle  the  political 
business,"  Philip  replied. 

Forberv  declined  the  fray.  Patrick  was  eagerly  watchful 
and  dumb.  Rockney  finished  his  coffee  with  a  rap  of  the 
cup  in  the  saucer,  an  appeal  for  the  close  of  the  sitting; 
and  as  Dr.  Forberv  responded  to  it  by  pushing  back  his 
chair,  he  did  likewise,  and  the  otlier  made  a  movement. 

The  disappointed  hero  of  a  fight  unfought  had  to  give 
the  signal  for  rising.  Double  the  number  of  the  ten  minutes 
had  elapsed.  He  sprang  up,  hearing  Rockney  say:  "Cap- 
tain Con  O'Donnell  is  a  politician  or  nothing,"  and  as  he 
was  the  most  placable  of  men  concerning  his  person- 
ality,   he   took   it   lightly,  with  half  a  groan  that  it  had 


OP  ROCKNEY  157 

not  come  earlier,  and  said,  "He  thinks  and  he  feels,  poor 

fellow  1" 

All  hope  of  a  general  action  was  over. 

"That  shall  pass  for  the  epitaph  of  the  living,"  said 
Rockney. 

It  was  too  late  to  catch  at  a  trifle  to  strain  it  to  a  tussle. 
Con  was  obliged  to  subjoin :  "  Inscribe  it  on  the  dungeon- 
door  of  tyranny."     But  the  note  was  peaceful. 

He  expressed  a  wish  that  the  fog  had  cleared  for  him  to 
see  the  stars  of  heaven  before  he  went  to  bed,  informing 
Mr.  Mattock  that  a  long  look  in  among  them  was  often  his 
prayer  at  night,  and  winter  a  holy  season  to  him,  for  the 
reason  of  its  showing  them  bigger  and  brighter. 

"I  can  tell  my  wife  with  a  conscience  we've  had  a  quiet 
evening,  and  you're  a  witness  to  it,"  he  said  to  Patrick. 
That  consolation  remained. 

"You  know  the  secret  of  your  happiness,"  Patrick 
answered. 

"Know  you  one  of  the  secrets  of  a  young  man's  for- 
tune in  life,  and  give  us  a  thrilling  song  at  the  piano,  my 
son,"  said  Con:  "though  we  don't  happen  to  have  much 
choice  of  virgins  for  ye  to-night.  Irish  or  French.  Irish 
are  popular.  They  don't  mind  having  us  musically.  And 
if  we'd  go  on  joking  to  the  end  we  should  content  them, 
if  only  by  justifying  their  opinion  that  we're  born  buf- 
foons." 

His  happy  conscience  enabled  him  to  court  his  wife  with 
assiduity  and  winsomeness,  and  the  ladies  were  once  more 


158  CELT  AND   SAXON 

elated  by  seeing  how  chivalrously  lover-like  an  Irish  gentle- 
man can  be  after  years  of  wedlock. 

Patrick  was  asked  to  sing.  Miss  Mattock  accompanied 
him  at  the  piano.  Then  he  took  her  place  on  the  music- 
stool,  and  she  sang,  and  with  an  electrifying  splendour  of 
tone  and  style. 

"But  it's  the  very  heart  of  an  Italian  you  sing  with!" 
he  cried. 

"It  will  surprise  you  perhaps  to  hear  that  I  prefer 
German  music,"  said  she. 

"But  where  —  who  had  the  honour  of  boasting  you  his 
pupil?" 

She  mentioned  a  famous  master.  Patrick  had  heard  of 
him  in  Paris.  He  begged  for  another  song  and  she  com- 
plied, accepting  the  one  he  selected  as  the  favourite  of  his 
brother  Philip's,  though  she  said:  "That  one?"  with  a 
superior  air.  It  was  a  mellifluous  love-song  from  a  popular 
Opera  somewhat  out  of  date.  "Well,  it's  in  Italian!"  she 
summed  up  her  impressions  of  the  sickly  words  while 
scanning  them  for  delivery.  She  had  no  great  admiration 
of  the  sentimental  Sicilian  composer,  she  confessed,  yet 
she  sang  as  if  possessed  by  him.  Had  she,  Patrick  thought, 
been  bent  upon  charming  Philip,  she  could  not  have  thrown 
more  fire  into  the  notes.  And  when  she  had  done,  after 
thrilling  the  room,  there  was  a  gesture  in  her  dismissal  of 
the  leaves  displaying  critical  loftiness.  Patrick  noticed  it 
and  said,  with  the  thrill  of  her  voice  lingering  in  him: 
"What  is  it  you  do  like?     I  should  so  like  to  know." 


OF  ROCKNEY  159 

She  was  answering  when  Captain  Con  came  up  to  the 
piano  and  remarked  in  an  undertone  to  Patrick:  "How 
is  it  you  hit  on  the  song  Adiante  Adister  used  to  sing?" 

Miss  Mattock  glanced  at  Philip.  He  had  applauded  her 
mechanically,  and  it  was  not  that  circumstance  which 
caused  the  second  rush  of  scariet  over  her  face.  This 
time  she  could  track  it  definitely  to  its  origin.  A  lover's 
favourite  song  is  one  that  has  been  sung  by  his  love.  She 
detected  herself  now  in  the  full  apprehension  of  the  fact 
before  she  had  sung  a  bar:  it  had  been  a  very  dim  fancy: 
and  she  denounced  herself  guilty  of  the  knowledge  that 
she  was  giving  pain  by  singing  the  stuff  fervidly,  in  the 
same  breath  that  accused  her  of  never  feeling  things  at  the 
right  moment  vividly.  The  reminiscences  of  those  pale 
intuitions  made  them  always  affectingly  vivid. 

But  what  vanity  in  our  emotional  state  in  a  great  jarring 
world  where  we  are  excused  for  continuing  to  seek  our 
individual  happiness  only  if  we  ally  it  and  subordinate  it  to 
the  well-being  of  our  fellows!  The  interjection  was  her 
customary  specific  for  the  cure  of  these  little  tricks  of  her 
blood.  Leaving  her  friend  Miss  Barrow  at  the  piano,  slie 
took  a  chair  in  a  corner  and  said:  "Now,  Mr.  O'Donnell, 
you  will  hear  the  music  that  moves  me." 

"But  it's  not  to  be  singing,"  said  Patrick.  "And  how 
can  you  sing  so  gloriously  what  you  don't  care  for?  It 
puzzles  me  completely." 

She  assured  him  she  was  no  enigma :  she  hushed  to  him 
♦o  hear. 


160  CELT  AND  SAXON 

He  dropped  his  underlip,  keeping  on  the  conversation 
with  his  eyes  until  he  was  caught  by  the  masterly  playing 
of  a  sonata  by  the  chief  of  the  poets  of  sound. 

He  was  caught  by  it,  but  he  took  the  close  of  the  intro- 
ductory section,  an  allegro  con  brio,  for  the  end,  and  she 
had  to  hush  at  him  again,  and  could  not  resist  smiling  at 
her  lullaby  to  the  prattler.  Patrick  smiled  in  response. 
Exchanges  of  smiles  upon  an  early  acquaintance  between 
two  young  people  are  peeps  through  the  doorway  of  inti- 
macy. She  lost  sight  of  the  Jesuit.  Under  the  influence 
of  good  music,  too,  a  not  unfavourable  inclination  towards 
the  person  sitting  beside  us  and  sharing  that  sweetness, 
will  soften  general  prejudices:  —  if  he  was  Irish,  he  was 
boyishly  Irish,  not  like  his  inscrutable  brother;  a  better,  or 
hopefuller  edition  of  Captain  Con;  one  with  whom  some- 
thing could  be  done  to  steady  him,  direct  him,  improve 
him.  He  might  be  taught  to  appreciate  Beethoven  and 
work  for  his  fellows. 

"Now  does  not  that  touch  you  more  deeply  than  the 
Italian?"  said  she,  delicately  mouthing:  "I,  mio  tradito 
amor!" 

"Touch,  I  don't  know,"  he  was  honest  enough  to  reply. 
"It's  you  that  haven't  given  it  a  fair  chance.  I'd  like  to 
hear  it  again.     There's  a  forest  on  fire  in  it." 

"There  is,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  have  often  felt  it,  but 
never  seen  it.     You  exactly  describe  it.     How  true!" 

"But  any  music  I  could  listen  to  all  day  and  all  the 
night,"  said  he. 


OF  ROCKNEY  161 

"And  be  as  proud  of  yourself  the  next  morning?" 

Patrick  was  rather  at  sea.    What  could  she  mean  ? 

Mrs.  Adister  O'Donnell  stepped  over  to  them,  with  the 
object  of  instaUing  Colonel  Adister  in  Patrick's  place. 

The  object  was  possibly  perceived.  Mrs.  Adister  was 
allowed  no  time  to  set  the  manoeuvre  in  motion. 

"Mr.  O'Donnell  is  a  great  enthusiast  for  music,  and 
could  listen  to  it  all  day  and  all  night,  he  tells  me,"  said 
Miss  Mattock.  "Would  he  not  sicken  of  it  in  a  week, 
Mrs.  Adister?" 

"But  why  should  I?"  cried  Patrick.  "It's  a  gift  of 
heaven." 

"And,  like  other  gifts  of  heaven,  to  the  idle  it  would  turn 
to  evil." 

"I  can't  believe  it." 

"Work,  and  you  will  believe  it." 

"But,  Miss  Mattock,  I  want  to  work;  I'm  empty- 
handed.  It's  true  I  want  to  travel  and  see  a  bit  of  the  world 
to  help  me  in  my  work  by  and  by.  I'm  ready  to  try  any- 
thing I  can  do,  though." 

"Has  it  ever  struck  you  that  you  might  try  to  help  the 
poor?" 

"Arthur  is  really  anxious,  and  only  doubts  his  ability," 
said  Mrs.  Adister. 

"The  doubt  throws  a  shadow  on  the  wish,"  said  Miss 
Mattock.  "And  can  one  picture  Colonel  Adister  the 
secretary  of  a  Laundry  Institution,  receiving  directions 
from  Grace  and  me !    We  should  have  to  release  him  long 


1G2  CELT  AND   SAXON 

before  the  six  months'  term,  when  we  have  resolved  to  incur 
the  expense  of  a  salaried  secretary." 

Mrs.  Adister  turned  her  head  to  the  colonel,  who  was 
then  looking  down  the  features  of  Mrs.  Rockney. 

Patrick  said:     "I'm  ready,  for  a  year,  Miss  Mattock." 

She  answered  him,  half  jocosely:  "A  whole  year  of  free 
service  ?     Reflect  on  what  you  are  undertaking." 

"It's  writing  and  accounts,  no  worse?" 

"Writing  and  accounts  all  day,  and  music  in  the  evening 
only  now  and  then." 

"I  can  do  it:  I  will,  if  you'll  have  me." 

"Do  you  hear  Mr.  O'Donnell,  Mrs.  Adister?" 

Captain  Con  fluttered  up  to  his  wife,  and  heard  the  story 
from  Miss  Mattock. 

He  fancied  he  saw  a  thread  of  good  luck  for  Philip  in  it. 
"Our  house  could  be  Patrick's  home  capitally,"  he  sug- 
gested to  his  wife.  She  was  not  a  whit  less  hospitable,  only 
hinting  that  she  thought  the  refusal  of  the  post  was  due  to 
Arthur. 

"And  if  he  accepts,  imagine  him  on  a  stool,  my  dear 
madam;  he  couldn't  sit  it!" 

Miss  Mattock  laughed.  "No,  that  is  not  to  be  thought 
of  seriously.  And  with  Mr.  O'Donnell  it  would  be  proba- 
tionary for  the  first  fortnight  or  month.  Does  he  know 
anything  about  steam?" 

",The  rudimentary  idea,"  said  Patrick. 

"That's  good  for  a  beginning,"  said  the  captain;  and 
he  added:     "Miss  Mattock,   I'm   proud    if   one   of  my 


OF  ROCKNEY  163 

family  can  be  reckoned  worthy  of  assisting  in  your  noble 
work." 

She  replied :  "I  warn  everybody  that  they  shall  be  taken 
at  their  word  if  they  volunteer  their  services." 

She  was  bidden  to  know  by  the  captain  that  the  word  of  an 
Irish  gentleman  was  his  bond.  "And  not  later  than  to-mor- 
row evening  I'll  land  him  at  your  office.  Besides,  he'll  find 
countrywomen  of  his  among  you,  and  there's  that  to  enliven 
him.    You  say  they  work  well,  diligently,  intelligently." 

She  deliberated.  "Yes,  on  the  whole;  when  they  take 
to  their  work.  Intelligently  certainly  compared  with  our 
English.  We  do  not  get  the  best  of  them  in  London. 
For  that  matter,  we  do  not  get  the  best  of  the  English  — 
not  the  women  of  the  north.  We  have  to  put  up  with  the 
rejected  of  other  and  better-paying  departments  of  work. 
It  breaks  my  heart  sometimes  to  see  how  near  they  are  to 
doing  well,  but  for  such  a  little  want  of  ballast." 

"  If  they're  Irish,"  said  Patrick,  excited  by  the  breaking 
of  her  heart,  "a  whisper  of  cajolery  in  season  is  often  the 
secret." 

Captain  Con  backed  him  for  diplomacy.  "You'll  learn 
he  has  a  head.  Miss  Mattock." 

"I  am  myself  naturally  blunt,  and  prefer  the  straight- 
forward method,"  said  she. 

Patrick  nodded.  "But  where  there's  an  obstruction  in 
the  road,  it's  permissible  to  turn  a  corner." 

"Take  'em  in  flank  when  you  can't  break  their  centre," 
said  Con. 


lO^  U±:LT   and   SAXON 

"Well,  you  shall  really  try  whether  you  can  endure  the 
work  for  a  short  time  if  you  are  in  earnest,"  Miss  Mattock 
addressed  the  volunteer. 

"But  I  am,"  he  said. 

"We  are  too  poor  at  present  to  refuse  the  smallest  help." 

"And  mine  is  about  the  smallest." 

"I  did  not  mean  that,  Mr.  O'Donnell." 

"But  you'll  have  me?" 

"Gladly." 

Captain  Con  applauded  the  final  words  between  them. 
They  had  the  genial  ring,  though  she  accepted  the  wrong 
young  man  for  but  a  shadow  of  the  right  sort  of  engage- 
ment. 

This  being  settled,  by  the  sudden  combination  of  enthu- 
siastic Irish  impulse  and  benevolent  English  scheming,  she 
very  considerately  resigned  herself  to  Mrs.  Adister's  lead 
and  submitted  herself  to  a  further  jolting  in  the  unpro- 
gressive  conversational  coach  with  Colonel  Adister,  whose 
fault  as  a  driver  was  not  in  avoiding  beaten  ways,  but 
whipping  wooden  horses. 

Evidently  those  two  were  little  adapted  to  make  the 
journey  of  life  together,  though  they  were  remarkably  fine 
likenesses  of  a  pair  in  the  dead  midway  of  the  journey, 
Captain  Con  reflected,  and  he  could  have  jumped  at  the 
thought  of  Patrick's  cleverness:  it  was  the  one  bright  thing 
of  the  evening.  There  was  a  clear  gain  in  it  somewhere. 
And  if  there  was  none,  Jane  ]\Iattock  was  a  good  soul 
worth  serving.     Why  not  all  the  benefaction  on  our  side, 


OF  ROCKNEY  165 

and  a  figo  for  rewards!  Devotees  or  adventurers,  he  was 
ready  in  imagination  to  see  his  cousins  play  the  part  of 
either,  as  the  cross-roads  offered,  the  heavens  appeared  to 
decree.  We  turn  to  the  right  or  the  left,  and  this  way 
we're  voluntary  drudges,  and  that  way  we're  lucky  dogs; 
it's  all  according  to  the  turn,  the  fate  of  it.  But  never  for- 
get that  old  Ireland  is  weeping  1 

O  never  forget  that  old  Ireland  is  weeping 
The  bitter  salt  tears  of  the  mother  bereft  1 

He  hummed  the  spontaneous  lines.  He  was  accused 
of  singing  to  himself,  and  a  song  was  vigorously  demanded 
of  him  by  the  ladies. 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  can't,"  he  sighed.  "I  was 
plucking  the  drowned  body  of  a  song  out  of  the  waters  to 
give  it  decent  burial.  And  if  I  sing  I  shall  be  charged  with 
casting  a  firebrand  at  Mr.  Rockney." 

Rockney  assured  him  that  he  could  listen  to  anything  in 
verse. 

"Observe  the  sneer:  —  for  our  verses  are  smoke,"  said 
Con. 

Miss  Mattock  pressed  him  to  sing. 

But  he  had  saddened  his  mind  about  old  Ireland:  the 
Irish  news  weighed  heavily  on  him,  unrelieved  by  a  tussle 
with  Rockney.  If  he  sang,  it  would  be  an  Irish  song,  and 
he  would  break  down  in  it,  he  said ;  and  he  hinted  at  an 
objection  of  his  wife's  to  spirited  Irish  songs  of  the  sort 
which  carry  the  sons  of  Erin  bounding  over  the  fences  of 


166  CELT  AND   SAXON 

tyranny  and  the  brook  of  tears.  And  perhaps  Mr.  Rock- 
ney  might  hear  a  tale  in  verse  as  hard  to  bear  as  he  some- 
times found  Irish  prose !  —  Miss  Mattock  perceived  that 
his  depression  was  genuine,  not  less  than  his  desire  to 
please  her.  "Then  it  shall  be  on  another  occasion,"  she 
said. 

"Oh!  on  another  occasion  I'm  the  lark  to  the  sky,  my 
dear  lady." 

Her  carriage  was  announced.  She  gave  Patrick  a  look, 
with  a  smile,  for  it  was  to  be  a  curious  experiment.  He 
put  on  the  proper  gravity  of  a  young  man  commissioned, 
without  a  dimple  of  a  smile.  Philip  bowed  to  her  stiflfly, 
as  we  bow  to  a  commanding  officer  who  has  insulted  us  and 
will  hear  of  it.  But  for  that,  Con  would  have  manoeuvred 
against  his  wife  to  send  him  downstairs  at  the  lady's  heels. 
The  fellow  was  a  perfect  riddle,  hard  to  read  as  the  zebra 
lines  on  the  skin  of  a  wild  jackass  —  if  Providence  in- 
tended any  meaning  when  she  traced  them !  and  it's  a  moot 
point:  as  it  is  whether  some  of  our  poets  have  meaning  and 
are  not  composers  of  zebra.  "No  one  knows  but  them 
above!"  he  said  aloud,  apparently  to  his  wife. 

"What  can  you  be  signifying?"  she  asked  him.  She 
had  deputed  Colonel  Arthur  to  conduct  Miss  Mattock 
and  Miss  Barrow  to  their  carriage,  and  she  supposed  the 
sentence  might  have  a  mysterious  reference  to  the  plan  she 
had  formed;  therefore  it  might  be  a  punishable  offence. 
Her  small  round  eyes  were  wide-open,  her  head  was  up  and 
high. 


OP  ROCKNEY  167 

She  was  easily  appeased,  too  easily. 

"The  question  of  rain,  madam,"  he  replied  to  her  repeti- 
tion of  his  words.  "  I  dare  say  that  was  what  I  had  in  my 
mind,  hearing  Mr.  Mattock  and  Mr.  Rockney  agree  to 
walk  in  company  to  their  clubs." 

He  proposed  to  them  that  they  should  delay  the  march 
on  a  visit  to  his  cabin  near  the  clouds.  They  were  forced 
to  decline  his  invitation  to  the  gentle  lion's  mouth ;  as  did 
Mr.  Rumford,  very  briskly  and  thankfully.  Mr.  Rockney 
was  taken  away  by  Mr.  and  ^Mrs.  Marbury  Dyke.  So  the 
party  separated,  and  the  Englishmen  were  together,  and 
the  Irishmen  together;  and  hardly  a  syllable  relating  to  the 
Englishmen  did  the  Irishmen  say,  beyond  an  allusion  to  an 
accident  to  John  Mattock's  yacht  off  the  Irish  west-coast 
last  autumn;  but  the  Irishmen  were  subjected  to  some 
remarks  by  the  Englishmen,  wherein  their  qualities  as 
individuals  and  specimens  of  a  race  were  critically  and 
neatly  packed.  Common  sense  is  necessarily  critical  in  its 
collision  with  vapours,  and  the  conscious  possessors  of  an 
exclusive  common  sense  are  called  on  to  deliver  a  sum- 
mary verdict,  nor  is  it  an  unjust  one  either,  if  the  verdict 
be  taken  simply  for  an  estimate  of  what  is  presented  upon 
tlie  plain  surface  of  to-day.  Irishmen  are  queer  fellows, 
never  satisfied,  thirsting  for  a  shindy.  Some  of  them  get 
along  pretty  well  in  America.  The  air  of  their  Ireland 
intoxicates  them.  They  require  the  strong  hand:  fair 
legislation,  but  no  show  of  weakness.  Once  let  them 
imagine  you  are  afraid  of  them,  and  they  see  perfect  inde* 


168  CELT  AND  SAXON 

pendence  in  their  grasp.  And  what  would  be  the  spectacle 
if  they  were  to  cut  themselves  loose  from  England  ?  The 
big  ship  might  be  inconvenienced  by  the  loss  of  the  tender; 
the  tender  would  fall  adrift  on  the  Atlantic,  with  pilot  and 
captain  at  sword  and  pistol,  the  crew  playing  Donnybrook 
freely.  Their  cooler  heads  are  shrewd  enough  to  see  the 
folly,  but  it  catches  the  Irish  fancy  to  rush  to  the  extreme, 
and  we  have  allowed  it  to  be  supposed  that  it  frightens  us. 
There  is  the  capital  blunder,  jons  et  origo.  Their  leaders 
now  pretend  to  work  upon  the  Great  Scale;  they  demand 
everything  on  the  spot  upon  their  own  interpretation  of 
equity.  Concessions,  hazy  speeches,  and  the  puling  non- 
sense of  our  present  Government,  have  encouraged  them 
so  far  and  got  us  into  the  mess.  Treat  them  as  policemen 
treat  highwaymen:  give  them  the  law:  and  the  law  must 
be  tightened,  like  the  hold  on  a  rogue  by  his  collar,  if  they 
kick  at  it.  Rockney  was  for  sharp  measures  in  repression, 
fair  legislation  in  due  course. 

"Fair  legislation  upon  your  own  interpretation  of  fair," 
said  Mattock,  whose  party  opposed  Rockney's.  "As  to 
repression,  you  would  have  missed  that  instructive  scene 
this  evening  at  Con  O'Donnell's  table,  if  you  had  done 
him  the  kindness  to  pick  up  his  glove.  It's  wisest  to  let 
them  exhaust  their  energies  upon  one  another.  Hold  off, 
and  they're  soon  at  work." 

"What  kind  of  director  of  a  City  Company  does  he 
make?"  said  Rockney. 

Mattock  bethought  him  that,  on  the  whole,  strange  to 


OF  ROCKNEY  169 

say,  Con  O'Donnell  comported  himself  decorously  as  a 
director,  generally  speaking  on  the  reasonable  side,  not 
without  shrewdness:  he  seemed  to  be  sobered  by  the  money 
question. 

"That  wife  of  his  is  the  salvation  of  him,"  Rockney  said, 
to  account  for  the  captain's  shrewdness.  "She  manages 
him  cleverly.  He  knows  the  length  of  his  line.  She's  a 
woman  of  principle,  and  barring  the  marriage,  good  sense 
too.  His  wife  keeps  him  quiet,  or  we  should  be  hearing 
of  him.  Forbery's  a  more  dangerous  man.  There's  no 
intentional  mischief  in  Con  O'Donnell;  it's  only  effer- 
vescence. I  saw  his  game,  and  declined  to  uncork  him. 
He  talks  of  a  niece  of  his  wife's:  have  you  ever  seen 
her?  —  married  to  some  Servian  or  Roumanian  prince." 

Mattock  answered:     "Yes." 

"Is  she  such  a  beauty?" 

Again  Mattock  answered:  "Yes,"  after  affecting 
thoughtfulness. 

"They  seem  to  marry  oddly  in  that  family." 

Mattock  let  fly  a  short  laugh  at  the  remark,  which  had 
the  ring  of  some  current  phrase.     "They  do,"  he  said. 

Next  morning  Jane  Mattock  spoke  to  her  brother  of  her 
recruit.  He  entirely  trusted  to  her  discretion ;  the  idea  of 
a  young  Irish  secretary  was  rather  comical,  nevertheless. 
He  had  his  joke  about  it,  requesting  to  have  a  sight  of  the 
secretary's  books  at  the  expiry  of  the  week,  which  was  the 
length  of  time  he  granted  this  ardent  volunteer  for  evapo- 
rating and  vanishing. 


170  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"If  it  releases  poor  Grace  for  a  week,  it  will  be  useful  to 
us,"  Jane  said.  "Women  are  educated  so  shamefully  that 
we  have  not  yet  found  one  we  can  rely  on  as  a  competent 
person.  And  Mr.  O'Donnell  —  did  you  notice  him  ?  I 
told  you  I  met  him  a  day  or  two  back  —  seems  willing  to  be 
of  use.  It  cannot  hurt  him  to  try.  Grace  has  too  much 
on  her  hands." 

"She  has  a  dozen  persons." 

"They  are  zealous  when  they  are  led." 

"Beware  of  letting  them  suspect  that  they  are  led." 

"They  are  anxious  to  help  the  poor  if  they  can  discover 
how." 

"  Good  men,  I  don't  doubt,"  said  John  Mattock.  "Any 
proposals  from  curates  recently?" 

"Not  of  late.  Captain  O'Donnell,  the  brother  of  our 
secretary,  is  handsomer,  but  we  do  not  think  him  so 
trustworthy.  Did  you  observe  him  at  all  ?  —  he  sat  by 
me.     He  has  a  conspirator's  head." 

"What  is  that?"  her  brother  asked  her, 

"Only  a  notion  of  mine." 

She  was  directed  to  furnish  a  compendious  report  of  the 
sayings,  doings  and  behaviour  of  the  Irish  secretary  in  the 
evening. 

"If  I  find  him  there,"  she  said. 

Her  brother  was  of  opinion  that  Mr.  Patrick  O'Donnell 
would  be  as  good  as  his  word,  and  might  be  expected  to 
appear  there  while  the  novelty  lasted. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE   MATTOCK   FAMILY 


That  evening's  report  of  the  demeanour  of  the  young 
Irish  secretary  in  harness  was  not  so  exhilarating  as  John 
Mattock  had  expected,  and  he  inclined  to  think  his  sister 
guilty  of  casting  her  protecting  veil  over  the  youth.  It 
appeared  that  Mr.  O'Donnell  had  been  studious  of  his 
duties,  had  spoken  upon  no  other  topic,  had  asked  pertinent 
questions,  shown  no  flippancy,  indulged  in  no  extrava- 
gances. He  seemed,  Jane  said,  eager  to  master  details. 
A  certain  eagerness  of  her  own  in  speaking  of  it  sharpened 
her  clear  features  as  if  they  were  cutting  through  derision. 
She  stated  it  to  propitiate  her  brother,  as  it  might  have 
done  but  for  the  veracious  picture  of  Patrick  in  the  word 
"eager,"  which  pricked  the  scepticism  of  a  practical  man. 
He  locked  his  mouth,  looking  at  her  with  a  twinkle  she 
refused  to  notice.  "Determined  to  master  details"  he 
could  have  accepted.  One  may  be  determined  to  find  a 
needle  in  a  dust-heap;  one  does  not  with  any  stiffness  of 
purpose  go  at  a  dust-heap  eagerly.  Hungry  men  have 
eaten  husks;  they  have  not  betrayed  eagerness  for  such 
dry  stuff.  Patrick's  voracity  after  details  exhibited  a 
doubtfully  genuine  appetite,  and  John  deferred  his  amuse- 

171 


172  CELT   AND   SAXON 

ment  until  the  termination  of  the  week  or  month  when  his 
dear  good  Jane  would  visit  the  office  to  behold  a  vacated 
seat,  or  be  assailed  by  the  customary  proposal.  Irishmen 
were  not  likely  to  be  far  behind  curates  in  besieging  an 
heiress.  For  that  matter,  Jane  was  her  own  mistress  and 
could  very  well  take  care  of  herself;  he  had  confidence  in 
her  wisdom. 

He  was  besides  of  an  unsuspicious  and  an  unexacting 
temperament.  The  things  he  would  strongly  object  to  he 
did  not  specify  to  himself  because  he  was  untroubled  by  any 
forethought  of  them.  Business,  political,  commercial  and 
marine,  left  few  vacancies  in  his  mind  other  than  for  the 
pleasures  he  could  command  and  enjoy.  He  surveyed  his 
England  with  a  ruddy  countenance,  and  saw  the  country 
in  the  reflection.  His  England  saw  much  of  itself  in  him. 
Behind  each  there  was  more,  behind  the  country  a  great 
deal  more,  than  could  be  displayed  by  a  glass.  The 
salient  features  wore  a  resemblance.  Prosperity  and  heart- 
iness; a  ready  hand  on,  and  over,  a  full  purse;  a  recognised 
ability  of  the  .second-rate  order;  a  stout  hold  of  patent 
principles;  inherited  and  embraced,  to  make  the  day 
secure  and  supply  a  somniferous  pillow  for  the  night; 
occasional  fits  of  anxiety  about  affairs,  followed  by  an 
illuminating  conviction  that  the  world  is  a  changing  one 
and  our  construction  not  of  granite,  nevertheless  that  a 
justifiable  faith  in  the  ship,  joined  to  a  constant  study  of 
the  chart,  will  pull  us  through,  as  it  has  done  before,  de- 
spite all  assaults  and  underminings  of  the  common  enemy 


THE   MATTOCK   FAillLY  173 

and  the  particular;  these,  with  the  humorous  indifference 
of  famiUarity  and  constitutional  annoyances,  excepting 
when  they  grew  acute  and  called  for  drugs,  and  with  friend- 
liness to  the  race  of  man  of  both  colours,  in  the  belief 
that  our  Creator  originally  composed  in  black  and  white, 
together  with  a  liking  for  matters  on  their  present  footing 
in  slow  motion,  partly  under  his  conductorship,  were  the 
prominent  characteristics  of  the  grandson  of  the  founder 
of  the  house,  who  had  built  it  from  a  spade. 

The  story  of  the  building  was  notorious ;  popular  books 
for  the  inciting  of  young  Englishmen  to  dig  to  fortune  had 
a  place  for  it  among  the  chapters,  where  we  read  of  the 
kind  of  man  and  the  means  by  which  the  country  has 
executed  its  later  giant  strides  of  advancement.  The  first 
John  Mattock  was  a  representative  of  his  time;  he  moved 
when  the  country  was  moving,  and  in  the  right  direction, 
finding  himself  at  the  auspicious  moment  upon  a  line  of 
rail.  Elsewhere  he  would  have  moved,  we  may  suppose, 
for  the  spade-like  virtues  bear  their  fruits;  persistent  and 
thrifty,  solid  and  square,  will  fetch  ^ome  sort  of  yield  out 
of  any  soil;  but  he  would  not  have  gone  far.  The  Lord, 
to  whom  an  old  man  of  a  mind  totally  Hebrew  ascribed  tiie 
plenitude  of  material  success,  the  Lord  and  he  would  have 
reared  a  garden  in  the  desert;  in  proximity  to  an  oasis, 
still  on  the  sands,  against  obstacles.  An  accumulation  of 
upwards  of  four  hundred  thousand  pounds  required,  as  the 
moral  of  the  popular  books  does  not  sufficiently  indicate,  a 
moving  country,  an  ardent  sphere,  to  produce  the  sum: 


174  CELT  AND   SAXON 

and  since,  where  so  much  was  done,  we  are  bound  to  con- 
ceive others  at  work  as  well  as  he,  it  seems  to  follow  that 
the  exemplar  outstripping  them  vastly  must  have  profited 
by  situation  at  the  start,  which  is  a  lucky  accident;  and  an 
accident  is  an  indigestible  lump  in  a  moral  tale,  real  though 
the  story  be.  It  was  not  mentioned  in  the  popular  books: 
nor  did  those  worthy  guides  to  the  pursuit  of  wealth  contain 
any  reminder  of  old  John  Mattock's  dependence  upon  the 
conjoint  labour  of  his  fellows  to  push  him  to  his  elevation. 
As  little  did  they  think  of  foretelling  a  day,  generations 
hence,  when  the  empty  heirs  of  his  fellows  might  prefer  a 
modest  claim  (confused  in  statement)  to  compensation 
against  the  estate  he  bequeathed:  for  such  prophecy  as 
that  would  have  hinted  at  a  tenderness  for  the  mass  to  the 
detriment  of  the  individual,  and  such  tenderness  as  that  is 
an  element  of  our  religion,  not  the  drift  of  our  teaching. 
He  grumbled  at  the  heavy  taxation  of  his  estate  during  life: 
yearly  this  oppressed  old  man  paid  thousands  of  pounds 
to  the  Government.  It  was  poor  encouragement  to  shoul- 
der and  elbow  your  way  from  a  hovel  to  a  mansion  I 

He  paid  the  money,  dying  sour;  a  splendid  example  of 
energy  on  the  road,  a  forbidding  one  at  the  terminus.  And 
here  the  moral  of  the  popular  books  turned  aside  from  him 
to  snatch  at  humanity  for  an  instance  of  our  frailness  and 
dealt  in  portentous  shadows :  —  we  are,  it  should  be  known, 
not  the  great  creatures  we  assume  ourselves  to  be.  Six 
months  before  his  death  he  appeared  in  the  garb  of  a 
navvy,  humbly  soliciting  employment  at  his  own  house 


THE  MATTOCK  FAMILY  175 

door.  There  he  appealed  to  the  white  calves  of  his  foot- 
men for  a  day's  work,  upon  the  plea  that  he  had  never  been 
a  democrat. 

The  scene  had  been  described  with  humanely-moralising 
pathos  in  the  various  books  of  stories  of  Men  who  have 
come  to  Fortune,  and  it  had  for  a  length  of  seasons  an 
annual  position  in  the  foremost  rank  (on  the  line,  facing 
the  door)  in  our  exhibition  of  the  chosen  artists,  where,  as 
our  popular  words  should  do,  it  struck  the  spectator's 
eye  and  his  brain  simultaneously  with  pugilistic  foree:  a 
reference  to  the  picture  in  the  catalogue  furnishing  a 
recapitulation  of  the  incident.  "I've  vx)rked  a  good  bit 
in  my  time,  gentlemen,  and  I  baint  done  yet":  —  See 
Professor  Summit's  "Men  Who  Have  Come  to  For- 
tune." There  is,  we  perceive  at  a  glance,  a  contrast  in 
the  bowed  master  of  the  Mansion  applying  to  his  menials 
for  a  day's  work  at  the  rate  of  pay  to  able-bodied  men :  — 
which  he  is  not,  but  the  deception  is  not  disingenuous. 
The  contrast  flashed  with  the  rapid  exchange  of  two  prize- 
fighters in  a  ring,  very  popularly.  The  fustian  suit  and 
string  below  the  knee,  on  the  one  side,  and  the  purple  plush 
breeches  and  twinkling  airy  calves  (fascinating  his  atten- 
tion as  he  makes  his  humble  request  to  his  own,  these 
domestic  knights)  to  right  and  left  of  the  doorway  and  in 
front,  hit  straight  out  of  the  canvas.  And  as  quickly  as 
you  perceive  the  contrast  you  swallow  the  moral.  The 
dreaded  thing  is  down  in  a  trice,  to  do  what  salutary  work 
it  may  within  you.     That  it  passed  into  the  blood  of  Eng- 


176  CELT  AND   SAXON 

land's  middle-class  population,  and  set  many  heads  philo- 
sophically shaking,  and  filled  the  sails  of  many  a  sermon, 
is  known  to  those  who  lived  in  days  when  Art  and  the 
classes  patronising  our  Native  Art  existed  happily  upon 
the  terms  of  venerable  School-Dame  and  studious  pupils, 
before  the  sickly  era  displacing  Exhibitions  full  of  meaning 
for  tricks  of  colour,  monstrous  atmospherical  vagaries  that 
teach  nothing,  strange  experiments  on  the  complexion  of 
the  human  face  divine  —  the  feminine  In-peraethereally. 
Like  the  first  John  Mattock,  it  was  formerly  of,  and  yet 
by  dint  of  sturdy  energy,  above  the  people.  They  learnt 
from  it;  they  flocked  to  it  thirsting  and  retired  from  it 
thoughtful,  with  some  belief  of  having  drunk  of  nature  in 
art,  as  you  will  see  the  countless  troops  of  urchins  about 
the  one  cow  of  London,  in  the  Great  City's  Green  Park. 

A  bequest  to  the  nation  of  the  best  of  these  pictures  of 
Old  John,  by  a  very  old  Yorkshire  collector,  makes  it  milk 
for  all  time,  a  perpetual  contrast,  and  a  rebuke.  Com- 
pared with  the  portrait  of  Jane  Mattock  in  her  fiery  aureole 
of  hair  on  the  walls  of  the  breakfast-room,  it  marks  that 
fatal  period  of  degeneracy  for  us,  which  our  critics  of 
Literature  as  well  as  Art  are  one  voice  in  denouncing, 
when  the  complex  overwhelms  the  simple,  and  excess  of 
signification  is  attempted,  instead  of  letting  plain  nature 
speak  her  uncorrupted  tongue  to  the  contemplative  mind. 
Degeneracy  is  the  critical  history  of  the  Arts.  Jane's  hair 
was  of  a  reddish  gold-inwoven  cast  that  would,  in  her  grand- 
father's epoch,  have  shone  unambiguously  as  carrots.     The 


THE  MATTOCK   FAMILY  177 

girl  of  his  day  thus  adorned  by  Nature,  would  have  been 
shown  wearing  her  ridiculous  crown  with  some  decent 
sulkiness;  and  we  should  not  have  had  her  so  unsparingly 
crowned;  the  truth  would  have  been  told  in  a  dexterous 
concealment  —  a  rope  of  it  wound  up  for  a  bed  of  the 
tortoise-shell  comb  behind,  and  a  pair  of  tight  cornucopias 
at  the  temples.  What  does  our  modern  artist  do  but  flare 
it  to  right  and  left,  lift  it  wavily  over  her  forehead,  revel  in 
the  oriental  superabundance,  and  really  seem  to  swear  we 
shall  admire  it,  against  our  traditions  of  the  vegetable,  as  a 
poetical  splendour.  The  head  of  the  heiress  is  in  a  Jovian 
shower.  Marigolds  are  in  her  hand.  The  whole  square 
of  canvas  is  like  a  meadow  on  the  borders  of  June.  It 
causes  blinking. 

Her  brother  also  is  presented:  a  fine  portrait  of  him, 
with  clipped  red  locks,  in  blue  array,  smiling,  wearing  the 
rose  of  briny  breezes,  a  telescope  under  his  left  arm,  his 
right  forefinger  on  a  map,  a  view  of  Spitzbergen  through  a 
cabin-window:  for  John  had  notions  about  the  north-west 
passage,  he  had  spent  a  winter  in  the  ice,  and  if  an  amateur, 
was  not  the  less  a  true  sailor. 

With  his  brass-buttoned  blue  coat,  and  his  high-coloured 
cheeks,  and  his  convict  hair  —  a  layer  of  brick-dust  —  and 
his  air  of  princely  wealth,  and  the  icebergs  and  hummocks 
about  him,  he  looks  for  adventure  without  a  thought  of  his 
heroism  —  the  country  all  over. 

There  he  stands,  a  lover  of  the  sea,  and  a  scientific  sea- 
man and  engineer  to  boot,  practical  in  every  line  of  his  face. 


178  CELT  AND   SAXON 

defying  mankind  to  suspect  that  he  cherishes  a  grain  of 
romance.  On  the  wall,  just  above  his  shoulder,  is  a  sketch 
of  a  Viking  putting  the  lighted  brand  to  his  ship  in  mid  sea, 
and  you  are  to  understand  that  his  time  is  come  and  so 
should  a  Viking  die:  further,  if  you  will,  the  subject  is  a 
modem  Viking,  ready  for  the  responsibilities  of  the  title. 
Sketches  of  our  ancient  wooden  walls  and  our  iron  and 
plated  defences  line  the  pannellings.  These  degenerate 
artists  do  work  hard  for  their  money. 

The  portrait  of  John's  father,  dated  a  generation  back, 
is  just  the  man  and  little  else,  phantomly  the  man.  His 
brown  coat  struggles  out  of  the  obscurity  of  the  background, 
but  it  is  chiefly  background  clothing  him.  His  features  are 
distinguishable  and  delicate;  you  would  suppose  him  ap- 
pearing to  you  under  the  beams  of  a  common  candle,  or 
cottage  coalfire  —  ferruginously  opaque.  The  object  of 
the  artist  (apart  from  the  triumph  of  tone  on  the  canvas) 
is  to  introduce  him  as  an  elegant  and  faded  gentleman, 
rather  retiring  into  darkness  than  emerging.  He  is  the 
ghost  of  the  painter's  impasto.  Yet  this  is  Ezra  Mattock, 
who  multiplied  the  inheritance  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands 
into  millions,  and  died,  after  covering  Europe,  Asia  and  the 
Americas  with  iron  rails,  one  of  the  few  Christians  that  can 
hold  up  their  heads  beside  the  banking  Jew  as  magnates 
in  the  lists  of  gold.  The  portrait  is  clearly  no  frontispiece 
of  his  quahties.  He  married  an  accomplished  and  chari- 
table lady,  and  she  did  not  spoil  the  stock  in  refining  it. 
His  life  passed  quietly;  his  death  shook  the  country:  for 


THE  MATTOCK   F.iMILY  179 

though  it  had  been  known  that  he  had  been  one  of  our 
potentates,  how  mightily  he  was  one  had  not  entered  into 
the  calculations  of  the  pubHc  until  the  will  of  the  late  Ezra 
Mattock,  cited  in  our  prints,  received  comments  from 
various  newspaper  articles.  A  chuckle  of  collateral  satis- 
faction ran  through  the  empire.  All  England  and  her 
dependencies  felt  the  state  of  cousinship  with  the  fruits  of 
energy;  and  it  was  an  agreeable  sentiment,  coming  oppor- 
tunely, as  it  did,  at  the  tail  of  articles  that  had  been  dis- 
cussing a  curious  manifestation  of  late :  to-wit,  the  awaken- 
ing energy  of  the  foreigner  —  a  prodigious  apparition  on 
our  horizon.  Others  were  energetic  too!  We  were  not, 
the  sermon  ran,  to  imagine  we  were  without  rivals  in  the 
field.  We  were  possessed  of  certain  positive  advantages; 
we  had  coal,  iron,  and  an  industrious  population,  but  we 
were,  it  was  to  be  feared,  by  no  means  a  thrifty  race,  and 
there  was  reason  for  doubt  whether  in  the  matter  of  in- 
dustry we  were  quite  up  to  the  mark  of  our  forefathers. 
No  deterioration  of  the  stock  was  apprehended,  still  the 
nation  must  be  accused  of  a  lack  of  vigilance.  We  must 
look  round  us,  and  accept  the  facts  as  they  stood.  So 
accustomed  had  we  become  to  the  predominance  of  our 
position  that  it  was  diflScult  at  first  to  realise  a  position  of 
rivalry  that  threatened  our  manufacturing  interests  in  their 
hitherto  undisputed  lead  in  the  world's  markets.  The 
tale  of  our  exports  for  the  last  five  years  conveys  at 
once  its  moral  and  its  warning.  Statistics  were  then 
cited. 


180  CELT   AND   SAXON 

As  when  the  gloomy  pedagogue  has  concluded  his  ex- 
hortation, statistics  birched  the  land.  They  were  started 
at  our  dinner-tables,  and  scourged  the  social  converse. 
Not  less  than  in  the  articles,  they  were  perhaps  livelier 
than  in  the  preface;  they  were  distressing  nevertheless; 
they  led  invariably  to  the  question  of  our  decadence. 
Carthage  was  named:  a  great  mercantile  community  abso- 
lutely obliterated!  Senatorial  men  were  led  to  propose  in 
their  thoughtf  ullest  tones  that  we  should  turn  our  attention 
to  Art.  Why  should  we  not  learn  to  e.xcel  in  Art?  We 
excelled  in  Poetry.  Our  Poets  were  cited:  not  that  there 
was  a  notion  that  poems  would  pay  as  an  export  but  to 
show  that  if  we  excel  in  one  of  the  Arts  we  may  in  others 
of  them.  The  poetry  was  not  cited,  nor  was  it  necessary, 
the  object  being  to  inflate  the  balloon  of  paradox  with  a 
light-flying  gas,  and  prove  a  poem-producing  people  to  be 
of  their  nature  bom  artists;  if  they  did  but  know  it.  The 
ex'plosion  of  a  particular  trade  points  to  your  taking  up 
another.  Energy  is  adapted  to  flourish  equally  in  everj' 
branch  of  labour.  It  is  the  genius  of  the  will,  commanding 
all  the  cross-roads.  A  country  breeding  hugely  must  prove 
its  energy  likewise  in  the  departments  of  the  mind,  or  it 
will  ultimately  be  unable  to  feed  its  young  —  nay,  to  feast 
its  aldermen!  Let  us  be  up  and  alive. — Such  was  the 
exhortation  of  a  profound  depression.  Outside  these  dis- 
mal assemblies,  in  the  streets,  an  ancient  song  of  raven 
recurrence  croaked  of  "Old  England  a-going  down  the 
hill" ;  for  there  is  a  link  of  electricity  between  the  street-boy 


THE  MATTOCK   FAMILY  181 

and  the  leading  article  in  days  when  the  Poles  exchange 
salutations. 

Mr.  Ezra's  legacy  of  his  millions  to  son  and  daughter 
broke  like  a  golden  evening  on  the  borders  of  the  raincloud. 
Things  could  not  be  so  bad  when  a  plain  untitled  English 
gentleman  bequeathed  in  the  simplest  manner  possible  such 
giant  heaps,  a  very  Pelion  upon  Ossa,  of  wealth  to  his 
children.  The  minds  of  the  readers  of  journals  were  now 
directed  to  think  of  the  hoarded  treasures  of  this  favoured 
country.  They  might  approximately  be  counted,  but  even 
if  counted  they  would  be  past  conception,  like  the  sidereal 
system.  The  contemplation  of  a  million  stupefies:  con- 
sider the  figures  of  millions  and  millions!  Articles  were 
written  on  Lombard  Street,  the  Avorld's  gold-mine,  our 
granary  of  energy,  surpassing  all  actual  and  fabulous  gold- 
mines ever  spoken  of:  Aladdin's  magician  would  find  his 
purse  contracting  and  squeaking  in  the  comparison.  Then, 
too,  the  store  of  jewels  held  by  certain  private  families 
called  for  remark  and  an  allusion  to  Sindbad  the  sailor, 
whose  eyes  were  to  dilate  wider  than  they  did  in  the  valley 
of  diamonds.  Why,  we  could,  if  we  pleased,  lie  by  and  pass 
two  or  three  decades  as  jolly  cricketers  and  scullers,  and 
resume  the  race  for  wealth  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  hardly 
sensible  of  the  holiday  in  our  pockets.  Though  we  were  the 
last  people  to  do  it,  we  were  tiie  sole  people  tiiat  had  the 
option.  Our  Fortunatus'  cap  was  put  to  better  purposes, 
but  to  have  the  cap,  and  not  to  be  emasculated  by  the  pos- 
session, might  excuse  a  little  reasonable  pride  in  ourselves. 


182  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Thus  did  Optimism  and  Pessimism  have  their  turn,  like 
the  two  great  parties  in  the  State,  and  the  subsiding  see-saw 
restored  a  proper  balance,  much  to  the  nation's  comfort. 
Unhappily,  it  was  remembered,  there  are  spectators  of  its 
method  of  getting  to  an  equipoise  out  of  the  agitation  of 
extremes.  The  peep  at  our  treasures  to  regain  composure 
had,  we  fear,  given  the  foreigner  glimpses,  and  whetted  the 
appetite  of  our  masses.  No  sooner  are  we  at  peace  than 
these  are  heard  uttering  low  howls,  and  those  are  seen 
enviously  glaring.  The  spectre,  Panic,  that  ever  dogs  the 
optimistic  feast,  warns  us  of  a  sack  under  our  beds,  and 
robbers  about  to  try  a  barely-bolted  door.  Then  do  we, 
who  have  so  sweetly  sung  our  senses  to  sleep,  start  up,  in 
their  grip,  rush  to  the  doctor  and  the  blacksmith,  ring 
alarums,  proclaim  ourselves  intestinally  torn,  defenceless,  a 
prey  to  foes  within  and  without.  It  is  discovered  to  be  no 
worse  than  an  alderman's  dream,  but  the  pessimist  frenzy 
of  the  night  has  tossed  a  quieting  sop  to  the  Radical,  and 
summoned  the  volunteers  to  a  review.  Laudatory  articles 
upon  the  soldierly  "march  past"  of  our  volunteers  permit 
of  a  spell  of  soft  repose,  deeper  than  prudent,  at  the  end  of 
it,  India  and  Ireland  consenting. 

So  much  for  a  passing  outline  of  John  Bull  —  the 
shadow  on  the  wall  of  John  Mattock.  The  unostentatious 
millionaire's  legacy  to  his  two  children  affected  Mr.  Bull 
thrillingly,  pretty  nearly  as  it  has  here  been  dotted  in  lining. 
That  is  historical.  Could  he  believe  in  the  existence  of  a 
son  of  his,  a  master  of  millions,  who  had  never  sighed  (and 


THE  MATTOCK  FAMILY  183 

he  had  only  to  sigh)  to  die  a  peer,  or  a  baronet,  or  simple 
Knight  ?  The  downright  hard-nailed  coffin  fact  was  there; 
the  wealthiest  man  in  the  countrj'  had  flown  away  to  Shad- 
owland  a  common  Mr.!  You  see  the  straight  deduction 
from  the  circumstances :  —  we  are,  say  what  you  will,  a 
Republican  people !  Newspaper  articles  on  the  watch  sym- 
pathetically for  Mr.  Bull's  latest  view  of  himself,  preached 
on  the  theme  of  our  peculiar  Republicanism.  Soon  after 
he  was  observed  fondling  the  Crown  Insignia.  His  bards 
flung  out  their  breezy  columns,  reverentially  monarchial. 
The  Republican  was  informed  that  they  were  despised  as 
a  blatant  minority.  A  maudlin  fit  of  worship  of  our  nobil- 
ity had  hold  of  him  next,  and  English  aristocracy  received 
the  psean.  Lectures  were  addressed  to  democrats;  our 
House  of  Lords  was  pledged  solemnly  in  reams  of  print. 
We  were  told  that  "blood"  may  always  be  betted  on  to  win 
the  race;  blood  that  is  blue  will  beat  the  red  hollow.  Who 
could  pretend  to  despise  the  honour  of  admission  to  the 
ranks  of  the  proudest  peerage  the  world  has  known  1  Is 
not  a  great  territorial  aristocracy  the  strongest  guarantee 
of  national  stability?  The  loudness  of  the  interrogation, 
like  the  thunder  of  Jove,  precluded  thought  of  an  answer. 
Mr.  Bull,  though  he  is  not  of  lucid  memory,  kept  an  eye 
on  the  owner  of  those  millions.  His  bards  were  awake  to 
his  anxiety,  and  celebrated  John  Mattock's  doings  with  a 
trump  and  flourish  somewhat  displeasing  to  a  quietly- 
disposed  commoner.  John's  entry  into  Parliament  as  a 
Liberal  was  taken  for  sign  of  steersman  who  knew  where 


184  CELT  AND   SAXON 

the  tide  ran.  But  your  Liberals  are  sometimes  Radicals 
in  their  youth,  and  his  choice  of  parties  might  not  be  so 
much  sagacity  as  an  instance  of  unripe  lightheadedness. 
A  young  conservative  millionaire  is  less  disturbing.  The 
very  wealthy  young  peer  is  never  wanton  in  his  politics, 
which  seems  to  admonish  us  that  the  heir  of  vast  wealth 
should  have  it  imposed  on  him  to  accept  a  peerage,  and  be 
locked  up  as  it  were.  A  coronet  steadies  the  brain.  You 
may  let  out  your  heels  at  the  social  laws,  you  are  almost 
expected  to  do  it,  but  you  are  to  shake  that  young  pate 
of  yours  restively  under  such  a  splendid  encumbrance. 
Private  reports  of  John,  however,  gave  him  credit  for  sound 
opinions :  he  was  moderate,  merely  progressive.  When  it 
was  added  that  the  man  had  the  habit  of  taking  counsel 
with  his  sister,  he  was  at  once  considered  as  fast  and  safe, 
not  because  of  any  public  knowledge  of  the  character  of 
Jane  Mattock.  We  pay  this  homage  to  the  settled  common 
sense  of  women.  Distinctly  does  she  discountenance  leaps 
in  the  dark,  wild  driving,  and  the  freaks  of  Radicalism. 

John,  as  it  happened,  had  not  so  grave  a  respect  for  the 
sex  as  for  the  individual  Jane.  He  thought  women  capable 
of  acts  of  foolishness;  his  bright-faced  sister  he  could 
thoroughly  trust  for  prudent  conduct.  He  gave  her  a  good 
portion  of  his  heart  in  confidence,  and  all  of  it  in  affection. 
There  were  matters  which  he  excluded  from  confidence, 
even  from  intimate  communication  with  himself.  These 
he  could  not  reveal;  nor  could  she  perfectly  open  her  heart 
to  him,  for  the  same  reason.     Thev  both  had  an  established 


THE  MATTOCK  FAMILY  185 

ideal  of  their  personal  qualities,  not  far  above  the  positive, 
since  they  were  neither  of  them  pretentious,  yet  it  was  a 
trifle  higher  and  fairer  than  the  working  pattern ;  and  albeit 
they  were  sincere  enough,  quite  sincere  in  their  mutual 
intercourse,  they  had,  by  what  each  knew  at  times  of  the 
thumping  organ  within  them,  cause  for  doubting  that  they 
were  as  transparent  as  the  other  supposed,  and  they  were 
separately  aware  of  an  inward  smile  at  one  another's  partial 
deception;  which  did  not  thwart  their  honest  power  of 
working  up  to  the  respected  ideal.  The  stroke  of  the  deeper 
self-knowledge  rarely  shook  them;  they  were  able  to  live 
with  full  sensations  in  the  animated  picture  they  were  to  the 
eyes  best  loved  by  them.  This  in  fact  was  their  life.  Any- 
thing beside  it  was  a  dream,  and  we  do  not  speak  of  our 
dreams  —  not  of  every  dream.  Especially  do  we  reserve 
our  speech  concerning  the  dream  in  which  we  had  a  revela- 
tion of  the  proud  frame  deprived  of  a  guiding  will,  flung 
rudderless  on  the  waves.  Ah  that  abject!  The  dismantled 
ship  has  the  grandeur  of  the  tempest  about  it,  but  the  soul 
swayed  by  passion  is  ignominiously  bare-poled,  detected, 
hooted  by  its  old  assumption.  If  instinct  plays  fantastical 
tricks  when  we  are  sleeping,  let  it  be  ever  behind  a  curtain. 
We  can  be  held  guilty  only  if  we  court  exposure.  The 
ideal  of  English  gentleman  and  gentlewoman  is  closely 
Roman  in  the  self-repression  it  exacts,  and  that  it  should 
be  but  occasionally  difficult  to  them  shows  an  affinity  with 
the  type.  Do  you  perchance,  O  continental  observers  (.f 
the  race,  call  it  hj'pocritical  ?     It  is  their  nature  discipliiiou 


186  CELT  AND   SAXON 

to  the  regimental  step  of  civilisation.  Socially  these  island 
men  and  women  of  a  certain  middle  rank  are  veterans  of 
an  army,  and  some  of  the  latest  enrolled  are  the  stoutest 
defenders  of  the  flag. 

Brother  and  sister  preserved  their  little  secrets  of  char- 
acter apart.  They  could  not  be  expected  to  unfold  wiiat 
they  declined  personally  to  examine.  But  they  were  not 
so  successful  with  the  lady  governing  the  household,  their 
widowed  maternal  aunt,  Mrs.  Lackstraw,  a  woman  of 
decisive  penetration,  and  an  insubordinate  recruit  of  the 
army  aforesaid.  To  her  they  were  without  a  mask;  John 
was  passion's  slave,  Jane  the  most  romantic  of  Eve's 
daughters.  She  pointed  to  incidents  of  their  youth;  her 
vision  was  acutely  retrospective.  The  wealth  of  her 
nephew  and  niece  caused  such  a  view  of  them  to  be,  as  she 
remarked,  anxious  past  endurance.  She  had  grounds  for 
fearing  that  John,  who  might  step  to  an  alliance  with  any 
one  of  the  proudest  houses  in  the  Kingdom,  would  marry  a 
beggar-maid.  As  for  Jane,  she  was  the  natural  prey  of  a 
threadbare  poet.  INIrs.  Lackstraw  heard  of  Mr.  Patrick 
O'Donnell,  and  demanded  the  right  to  inspect  him.  She 
doubted  such  perfect  disinterestedness  in  any  young  man 
as  that  he  should  slave  at  account-keeping  to  that  Laundry 
without  a  prospect  of  rich  remuneration,  and  the  tale  of  his 
going  down  to  the  city  for  a  couple  of  hours  each  day  to 
learn  the  art  of  keeping  books  was  of  very  dubious  import 
in  a  cousin  of  Captain  Con  O'Donnell.  "Let  me  see  your 
prodigy,"  she  said,  with  the  emphasis  on  each  word. 


THE  MATTOCK   FAMILY  187 

Patrick  was  presented  at  her  table.  She  had  steeled 
herself  against  an  Irish  tongue.  He  spoke  little,  appeared 
simple,  professed  no  enthusiasm  for  the  Laundry.  And 
he  paid  no  compliments  to  Jane :  of  the  two  he  was  more 
interested  by  the  elder  lady,  whose  farm  and  dairy  in  Surrey 
he  heard  her  tell  of  with  a  shining  glance,  observing  that  he 
liked  thick  cream :  there  was  a  touch  of  home  in  it.  The 
innocent  sensuality  in  the  candid  avowal  of  his  tastes  in- 
spired confidence.  Mrs.  Lackstraw  fished  for  some  ac- 
count of  his  home.  He  was  open  to  flow  on  the  subject; 
he  dashed  a  few  sketches  of  mother  and  sisters,  dowerless 
girls,  fresh  as  trout  in  the  stream,  and  of  his  own  poor 
estate,  and  the  peasantry,  with  whom  he  was  on  friendly 
terms.  He  was  an  absentee  for  his  education.  Sweet 
water,  pure  milk,  potatoes  and  bread,  were  the  things  he 
coveted  in  plenty  for  his  people  and  himself,  he  said,  calling 
forth  an  echo  from  Mrs.  Lackstraw,  and  an  invitation  to 
come  down  to  her  farm  in  the  Spring.  "That  is,  Mr. 
O'Donnell,  if  you  are  still  in  London." 

"Oh,  I'm  bound  apprentice  for  a  year,"  said  he. 

He  was  asked  whether  he  did  not  find  it  tiresome  work. 

"A  trifle  so,"  he  confessed. 

Then  why  did  he  pursue  it,  the  question  was  put. 

He  was  not  alive  for  his  own  pleasure,  and  would  like  to 
feel  he  was  doing  a  bit  of  good,  was  the  answer. 

Could  one,  Mrs.  Lackstraw  asked  herself,  have  faith 
in  this  young  Irishman?  He  possessed  an  estate.  His 
brogue  rather  added  to  his  air  of  truthfulness.     His  easy 


188  CELT  AND  S.iXON 

manners  and  the  occasional  streak  of  correct  French  in  his 
dialogue  cast  a  shadow  on  it.  Yet  he  might  be  an  ingenu- 
ous creature  precisely  because  of  the  suspicion  roused  by 
his  quaint  unworldliness  that  he  might  be  a  terrible  actor. 
Why  not  ?  —  his  heart  was  evidently  much  more  interested 
in  her  pursuits  than  in  her  niece's.  The  juvenility  of  him 
was  catching,  if  it  was  indeed  the  man,  and  not  one  of  the 
actor's  properties.  Mrs.  Lackstraw  thought  it  prudent  to 
hint  at  the  latter  idea  to  Jane  while  she  decided  in  her 
generosity  to  embrace  the  former.  Oh  I  if  all  Irishmen 
shared  his  taste  for  sweet  water,  pure  milk  and  wholesome 
bread,  what  a  true  Union  we  should  have !  She  had  always 
insisted  on  those  three  things  as  most  to  be  desired  on  earth 
for  the  masses  and  she  reminded  Jane  of  it  as  a  curious 
fact.  Jane  acquiesced,  having  always  considered  it  a 
curious  fact  that  her  aunt  should  combine  the  relish  of  a 
country  life  with  the  intensest  social  ambition  —  a  passion 
so  sensitive  as  to  make  the  name  her  husband  had  inflicted 
on  her  a  pain  and  a  burden.  The  name  of  Mattock  gave 
her  horrors.  She  spoke  of  it  openly  to  prove  that  Jane 
must  marry  a  title  and  John  become  a  peer.  Never  was 
there  such  a  name  to  smell  of  the  soil.  She  declared  her 
incapacity  to  die  happy  until  the  two  had  buried  Mattock. 
Her  own  one  fatal  step  condemned  her,  owing  to  the  opinion 
she  held  upon  the  sacredness  of  marriage,  as  Lackstraw 
on  her  tombstone,  and  to  Lackstraw  above  the  earthly 
martyr  would  go  bearing  the  designation  which  marked 
her  to  be  claimed  bv  him.     But  for  John  and  Jane  the  index 


THE  MATTOCK  FAMILY  189 

of  Providence  pointed  a  brighter  passage  through  life. 
They  had  only  to  conquer  the  weakness  native  to  them  — 
the  dreadful  tendency  downward.  They  had,  in  the  spirit- 
ual sense,  frail  hearts.  The  gil"l  had  been  secretive  about 
the  early  activity  of  hers,  though  her  aunt  knew  of  two  or 
three  adventures  wanting  in  nothing  save  boldness  to  have 
put  an  end  to  her  independence  and  her  prospects:  — 
hence  this  Laundry  business !  a  clear  sign  of  some  internal 
disappointment.  The  boy,  however,  had  betrayed  himself 
in  his  mother's  days,  when  it  required  all  her  influence  and 
his  father's  authority,  with  proof  positive  of  the  woman's 
unworthiness,  to  rescue  him  from  immediate  disaster. 

Mrs.  Lackstraw's  confidences  on  the  theme  of  the  family 
she  watched  over  were  extended  to  Patrick  during  their 
strolls  among  the  ducks  and  fowls  and  pheasants  at  her 
farm.  She  dealt  them  out  in  exclamations,  as  much  as 
telling  him  that  now  they  knew  him  they  trusted  him,  not- 
withstanding the  unaccountable  part  he  played  as  honorary 
secretary  to  that  Laundry.  The  confidences,  he  was 
aware,  were  common  property  of  the  visitors  one  after 
another,  but  he  had  the  knowledge  of  his  being  trusted  as 
not  every  Irishman  would  have  been.  A  service  of  six 
months  to  the  secretaryship  established  his  reputation  as 
the  strange  bird  of  a  queer  species:  not  much  less  quiet, 
honest,  methodical,  than  an  Englishman,  and  still  impul- 
sive, Irish  still;  a  very  strange  bird. 

The  disposition  of  the  English  to  love  the  children  of 
Erin,  when  not  fretted  by  them,  was  shown  in  the  treatment 


190  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Patrick  received  from  the  Mattock  family.  It  is  a  love 
resembling  the  affection  of  the  stage-box  for  a  set  of 
favourite  performers,  and  Patrick,  a  Celt  who  had  schooled 
his  wits  to  observe  and  meditate,  understood  his  position 
with  them  as  one  of  the  gallant  and  amusing  race,  as  well 
as  the  reason  why  he  had  won  their  private  esteem.  They 
are  not  willingly  suspicious:  it  agitates  their  minds  to  be  so; 
and  they  are  most  easily  lulled  by  the  flattery  of  seeing 
their  special  virtues  grafted  on  an  alien  stock:  for  in  this 
admiration  of  virtues  that  are  so  necessary  to  the  stalwart 
growth  of  man,  they  become  just  sensible  of  a  minor  de- 
ficiency;—  the  tree,  if  we  jump  out  of  it  to  examine  its 
appearance,  should  not  be  all  trunk.  Six  months  of  un- 
grudging unremunerated  service,  showing  devotion  to  the 
good  cause  and  perfect  candour  from  first  to  last,  was 
English,  and  a  poetic  touch  beyond:  so  that  John  Mattock, 
if  he  had  finished  the  sentence  instead  of  lopping  it  with  an 
interjection,  would  have  said:  "These  Irish  fellows,  when 
they're  genuine  and  first  rate!  —  are  pretty  well  the  pick 
of  the  land."  Perhaps  his  pause  on  the  interjection  ex- 
pressed a  doubt  of  our  getting  them  genuine.  Mr.  O'Don- 
nell  was  a  sort  of  exceptional  Irishman,  not  devoid  of  prac- 
tical ability  in  a  small  way  —  he  did  his  duties  of  secretary 
fairly  well;  apparently  sincere  —  he  had  refrained  from 
courting  Jane;  an  odd  creature  enough,  what  with  his 
mixture  of  impulsiveness  and  discretion ;  likeable,  pleasant 
to  entertain  and  talk  to;  not  one  of  your  lunatics  con- 
cerning his  country  —  he  could  listen  to  an  Englishman's 


THE  MATTOCK   FAMILY  191 

opinion  on  that  head,  listen  composedly  to  Rockney,  merely 
seeming  to  take  notes;  and  Rockney  was,  as  Captain  Con 
termed  him.  Press  Dragoon  about  Ireland,  a  trying  doctor 
for  a  child  of  the  patient. 

On  the  whole,  John  Mattock  could  shake  hb  hand 
heartily  when  he  was  leaving  our  shores.  Patrick  was 
released  by  Miss  Grace  Barrow's  discovery  at  last  of  a  lady 
capable  of  filling  his  place:  a  circumstance  that  he  did  not 
pretend  to  regret.  He  relinquished  his  post  and  stood  aside 
with  the  air  of  a  disciplined  soldier.  This  was  at  the  expi- 
ration of  seven  months  and  two  weeks  of  service.  Only 
after  he  had  gone,  upon  her  receiving  his  first  letter  from 
the  Continent,  did  Jane  distinguish  in  herself  the  warmth 
of  friendliness  she  felt  for  him,  and  know  that  of  all  around 
her  she,  reproaching  every  one  who  had  hinted  a  doubt,  had 
been  the  most  suspicious  of  his  pure  simplicity.  It  was  the 
vice  of  her  condition  to  be  suspicious  of  the  honesty  of  men. 
She  thought  of  her  looks  as  less  attractive  than  they  were; 
of  her  wealth  she  had  reason  to  think  that  the  scent  trans- 
formed our  sad  se.x  into  dogs  under  various  disguises. 
Remembering  her  chill  once  on  hearing  Patrick  in  a  green 
lane  where  they  botanised  among  spring  flowers  call  him- 
self her  Irish  cousin,  as  if  he  had  advanced  a  step  and 
betrayed  the  hoof,  she  called  him  her  Irish  cousin  now  in 
good  earnest.  Her  nation  was  retrospectively  enthusiastic. 
The  cordiality  of  her  letter  of  reply  to  the  wandering 
Patrick  astonished  him  on  the  part  of  so  cool  a  young  lady ; 
and  Captain  Con,  when  he  heard  Miss  Mattock  speak  of 


192  CELT  AND  SAXON 

Patrick  to  his  wife,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  leery 
lad  had  gone  a  far  way  toward  doing  the  trick  for  himself, 
though  Jane  said  his  correspondence  was  full  of  the  deeds 
of  his  brother  in  India.  She  quite  sparkled  in  speaking  of 
this  boy. 

She  and  the  captain  had  an  interchange  of  sparklings 
over  absent  Patrick,  at  a  discovery  made  by  Miss  Coles- 
worth,  the  lady  replacing  him,  in  a  nook  of  the  amateur 
secretary's  official  desk,  under  heaps  of  pamphlets  and  slips, 
French  and  English  and  Irish  journals,  not  at  all  bearing 
upon  the  business  of  the  Laundry.  It  was  a  blotting-pad 
stuffed  with  Patrick's  jottings.  Jane  brought  it  to  Con 
as  to  the  proper  keeper  of  the  reliquary.  He  persuaded 
her  to  join  him  in  examining  it,  and  together  they  bent  their 
heads,  turning  leaf  by  leaf,  facing,  laughing,  pursuing  the 
search  for  more,  sometimes  freely  shouting.  Her  inspec- 
tion of  the  contents  had  previously  been  shy;  she  had  just 
enough  to  tell  her  they  were  funny.  Dozens  of  scraps, 
insides  of  torn  envelopes,  invitation-cards,  ends  of  bills 
received  from  home,  whatever  was  handy  to  him  at  the 
moment,  had  done  service  for  the  overflow  of  Mr.  Secre- 
tary's private  notes  and  reflections;  the  blotting-paper  as 
well;  though  that  was  devoted  chiefly  to  sketches  of  the 
human  countenance,  the  same  being  almost  entirely  of  the 
fair.  Jane  fancied  she  spied  herself  among  the  number. 
Con  saw  the  Ukeness,  but  not  considering  it  a  compli- 
mentary one,  he  whisked  over  the  leaf.  Grace  Barrow 
was  unmistakable.     Her  dimpled  cushion  features,  and 


THE  MATTOCK  FAMILY  193 

very  intent  eyes  gazing  out  of  the  knolls  and  dingles,  were 
given  without  caricature.  Miss  Colesworth  appeared  on 
the  last  page,  a  half-length  holding  a  big  key,  demure 
between  curls.  The  key  was  explained  by  a  cage  on  a 
stool,  and  a  bird  flying  out.  She  had  unlocked  the  cage 
for  Patrick. 

"He  never  seemed  anxious  to  be  released  while  he  was 
at  work,"  said  Jane,  after  she  and  the  captain  had  spelt 
the  symbolling  in  turns. 

"And  never  thirsted  to  fly  till  he  flew,  I  warrant  him," 
said  Con. 

A  repeated  sketch  of  some  beauty  confused  them  both; 
neither  of  them  could  guess  the  proud  owner  of  those 
lineaments.  Con  proclaimed  it  to  be  merely  one  of  the 
lad's  recollections,  perhaps  a  French  face.  He  thought  he 
might  have  seen  a  face  rather  resembling  it,  but  could  not 
call  to  mind  whose  face  it  was. 

"  I  dare  say  it's  just  a  youngster's  dream  on  a  stool  at  a 
desk,  as  poets  write  sonnets  in  their  youth  to  nobody,  till 
they're  pierced  by  somebody,  and  then  there's  a  difference 
in  their  handwriting,"  he  said,  vexed  with  Patrick  for 
squandering  his  opportunity  to  leave  a  compliment  to  the 
heiress  behind  him. 

Jane  flipped  the  leaves  back  to  the  lady  with  stormy  hair. 

"But  you'll  have  the  whole  book,  and  hand  it  to  him 
when  he  returns;  it'll  come  best  from  you,"  said  Con. 
"The  man  on  horseback,  out  of  uniform,  's  his  brother 
Philip,  of  course.     And  man  and  horse  are  done  to  tlie  Tife- 


194  CELT  AND   SAXON 

Pray,  take  it,  Miss  Mattock.  I  should  lose  it  to  a  certainty ; 
I  should;  I  can't  be  trusted.     You'll  take  itl" 

He  pressed  her  so  warmly  to  retain  the  bundle  in  her 
custody  that  she  carried  it  away. 

Strange  to  say  the  things  she  had  laughed  at  had  been 
the  things  which  struck  her  feelings  and  sympathies. 
Patrick's  notes  here  and  there  recalled  conversations  he 
had  more  listened  to  than  taken  part  in  between  herself 
and  Grace  Barrow.  Who  could  help  laughing  at  his  ideas 
about  women  1  But  if  they  were  crude,  they  were  shrewd 
—  or  so  she  thought  them ;  and  the  jejuneness  was,  to  her 
mind,  chiefly  in  the  dressing  of  them.  Grace  agreed  with 
her,  for  Grace  had  as  good  a  right  to  inspect  the  papers  as 
she,  and  a  glance  had  shown  that  there  was  nothing  of 
peculiar  personal  import  in  his  notes :  he  did  not  brood  on 
himself. 

Here  was  one  which  tickled  the  ladies  and  formed  a 
text  for  discussion. 

"Women  must  take  the  fate  of  market-fruit  till  they 
earn  their  own  pennies,  and  then  they'll  regulate  the 
market.  It  is  a  tussle  for  money  with  them  as  with  us, 
meaning  power.  They'll  do  it  as  little  by  oratory  as  they 
have  done  by  millinery,  for  their  oratory,  just  like  their 
millinery,  appeals  to  a  sentiment,  and  to  a  weaker;  and 
nothing  solid  comes  of  a  sentiment.  Power  is  built  on 
work," 

To  this  was  appended:  "The  better  for  mankind  in 
the  developing  process,  ay,  and  a  bad  day  for  us,  boys, 


THE  MATTOCK  FAMILY  195 

when  study  masks  the  charming  eyes  in  gig-lamps,  and 
there  is  no  pretty  flying  before  us.  Good-night  to  Cupid, 
I  fear.  Maybe  I  am  not  seeing  far  enough,  and  am  asking 
for  the.devil  to  have  the  loveHest  women  as  of  old.  Retro 
S.  M." 

The  youthful  eye  on  their  sex,  the  Irish  voice,  and  the 
perceptible  moral  earnestness  in  the  background,  made  up 
a  quaint  mixture. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OF   THE    GREAT    MR.    BULL    AND    THE    CELTIC    AND    SAXON 
VIEW  OF  him:    and  something  of  RICHARD  ROCKNEY 

Meanwhile  India,  our  lubber  giant,  had  ceased  to  kick 
a  leg,  and  Ireland,  our  fever-invalid,  wore  the  aspect  of  an 
opiate  slumber.  The  volcano  we  couch  on  was  quiet, 
the  gritty  morsel  unabsorbed  within  us  at  an  armistice 
with  the  gastric  juices.  Once  more  the  personification  of 
the  country's  prosperity  had  returned  to  the  humming 
state  of  roundness.  Trade  whipped  him  merrily,  and  he 
spun. 

A  fuller  sketch  of  the  figure  of  this  remarkable  emanation 
of  us  and  object  of  our  worship,  Bull,  is  required  that  we 
may  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  a  story  dealing  with  such 
very  different  views  of  the  idol,  and  learn  to  tolerate  plain- 
speaking  about  him. 

Fancy  yourself  delayed  by  stress  of  weather  at  an  inn  or 
an  excursion,  and  snapped  up  by  some  gossip  drone  of  the 
district,  who  hearing  whither  you  are  bound,  recounts  the 
history  and  nature  of  the  place,  to  your  ultimate  advantage, 
though  you  groan  for  the  outer  downpour  to  abate.  —  Of 
Bull,  then:  our  image,  before  tlie  world:  our  lord  and 
tyrant,  ourself  in  short  —  the  lower  part  of  us.     Coldly 

196 


OF  THE   GREAT  MR.   BULL  197 

worshipped  on  the  whole,  he  can  create  an  enthusiasm 
when  his  roast-beef  influence  mounts  up  to  peaceful  skies 
and  the  domestic  English  world  spins  with  him.  What  he 
does  not  like  will  then  be  the  forbidding  law  of  a  most 
governable  people,  what  he  does  like  the  consenting.  If  it 
is  declared  that  argument  will  be  inefficacious  to  move  him, 
he  is  adored  in  the  form  of  post.  A  hint  of  his  willingness 
in  any  direction,  causes  a  perilous  rush  of  his  devotees. 
Nor  is  there  reason  to  suppose  we  have  drawn  the  fanatical 
subserviency  from  the  example  of  our  subject  India.  We 
may  deem  it  native;  perhaps  of  its  origin  Aryan,  but  we 
have  made  it  our  own.  Some  have  been  so  venturesome 
as  to  trace  the  lordliness  of  Bull  to  the  protecting  smiles 
of  the  good  Neptune,  whose  arms  are  about  him  to  en- 
courage the  development  of  a  wanton  eccentricity.  Certain 
weeds  of  the  human  bosom  are  prompt  to  flourish  where 
safeness  would  seem  to  be  guaranteed.  Men,  for  instance, 
of  stoutly  independent  incomes  are  prone  to  the  same  sort 
of  wilfulness  as  Bull's,  the  same  abject  submission  to  it 
which  we  behold  in  his  tidal  bodies  of  supporters.  Nep- 
tune has  done  something.  One  thinks  he  had  done  much, 
at  a  rumour  of  his  inefficiency  to  do  the  utmost.  Spy  you 
insecurity?  —  a  possibility  of  invasion?  Then  indeed  the 
colossal  creature,  inaccessible  to  every  argument,  is  open 
to  any  suggestion:  the  oak-like  is  a  reed,  the  bull  a  deer. 
But  as  there  is  no  attack  on  his  shores,  there  is  no  proof 
that  they  are  invulnerable.  Neptune  is  appealed  to  and 
replies  by  mouth  of  the  latest  passenger  across  the  Channel 


198  CELT  AND   SAXON 

on  a  windy  night:  —  Take  heart,  son  John!  They  will 
have  poor  stomachs  for  blows  who  intrude  upon  you.  The 
testification  to  the  Sea-God's  watchfulness  restores  his 
darling  who  is  immediately  as  horny  to  argument  as  before. 
Neptune  shall  have  his  share  of  the  honours. 

Ideal  of  his  country  Bull  has  none  —  he  hates  the  word ; 
it  smells  of  heresy,  opposition  to  his  image.  It  is  an  exer- 
cise of  imagination  to  accept  an  ideal,  and  his  digestive 
organs  reject  it,  after  the  manner  of  the  most  beautiful 
likeness  of  him  conjurable  to  the  mind  —  that  flowering 
stomach,  the  sea-anemone,  which  opens  to  anything  and 
speedily  casts  out  what  it  cannot  consume.  He  is  a  positive 
shape,  a  practical  corporation,  and  the  best  he  can  see  is 
the  mirror  held  up  to  him  by  his  bards  of  the  Press  and  his 
jester  Frank  Guffaw.  There,  begirt  by  laughing  ocean 
waves,  manifestly  blest,  he  glorifies  his  handsome  round- 
ness, like  that  other  Foam-Born,  whom  the  decorative 
Graces  robed  in  vestments  not  so  wonderful  as  printed 
sheets.  Rounder  at  each  inspection,  he  preaches  to  man- 
kind from  the  text  of  a  finger  curved  upon  the  pattern 
spectacles.  Your  Frenchmen  are  revolutionising,  wager- 
ing on  tentative  politics;  your  Germans  ploughing  in 
philosophy,  thumbing  classics,  composing  music  of  a  novel 
order:  both  are  marching,  evolutionising,  learning  how  to 
kill.  Ridiculous  Germans!  capricious  Frenchmen!  We 
want  nothing  new  in  musical  composition  and  abstract 
speculation  of  an  indecent  mythology,  or  political  contri- 
vances and  schemes  of  Government,  and  we  do  not  want 


OF  THE   GREAT  MR.   BULL  199 

war.  Peace  is  the  Goddess  we  court  for  the  hand  of  her 
daughter  Plenty,  and  we  have  won  that  jolly  girl,  and  you 
are  welcome  to  the  marriage-feast;  but  avaunt  new-fangled 
theories  and  howlings:  old  tunes,  tried  systems,  for  us, 
my  worthy  friends. 

Roundness  admiring  the  growth  of  its  globe  may  address 
majestic  invitation  to  the  leaner  kine.  It  can  exhibit  to 
the  world  that  Peace  is  a  most  desirable  mother-in-law; 
and  it  is  tempted  to  dream  of  capping  the  pinnacle  of 
wisdom  when  it  squats  on  a  fundamental  truth.  Bull's 
perusal  of  the  Horatian  "carpe  diem"  is  acute  as  that  of 
the  cattle  in  fat  meads ;  he  walks  like  lusty  Autumn  carry- 
ing his  garner  to  drum  on,  for  a  sign  of  his  diligent  wisdom 
in  seizing  the  day.  He  can  read  the  page  fronting  him; 
and  let  it  be  of  dining,  drinking,  toasting,  he  will  vocifer- 
ously confute  the  wiseacre  bookworms  who  would  have  us 
believe  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  present  hour  for  man. 

In  sad  fact,  the  member  for  England  is  often  intoxicate. 
Often  do  we  have  him  whirling  his  rotundity  like  a  Mussul- 
man dervish  inflated  by  the  spirit  to  agitate  the  shanks, 
until  pangs  of  a  commercial  crisis  awaken  him  to  perceive 
an  infructuous  past  and  an  un.sown  future,  without  one  bit 
of  tracery  on  its  black  breast  other  than  that  which  his 
apprehensions  project.  As  for  a  present  hour,  it  swims,  it 
vanishes,  thinner  than  the  phantom  banquets  of  recollec- 
tion. What  has  he  done  for  the  growth  of  his  globe  of 
brains  ?  —  the  lesser,  but  in  our  rightful  posture  the  upper, 
and  justly  the  directing  globe,  through  whose  directions 


200  CELT  AND   SAXON 

we  do,  by  feeding  on  the  past  to  sow  the  future,  create  a 
sensible  present  composed  of  both  —  the  present  of  the 
good  using  of  our  powers.  What  can  he  show  in  the  Arts  ? 
What  in  Arms  ?  His  bards  —  O  faithless !  but  they  are 
men  —  his  bards  accuse  him  of  sheer  cattle-contentedness 
in  the  mead,  of  steriUty  of  brain,  drowsihood,  nidnoddyism, 
downright  carcase-dulness.  They  question  him  to  deafen 
him  of  our  defences,  our  intellectual  eminence,  our  material 
achievements,  our  poetry,  our  science;  they  sneer  at  his 
trust  in  Neptune,  doubt  the  scaly  invulnerability  of  the 
God.  They  point  over  to  the  foreigner,  the  clean-stepping, 
braced,  self-confident  foreigner,  good  at  arms,  good  at  the 
arts,  and  eclipsing  us  in  industriousness  manual  and  mental, 
and  some  dare  to  say,  in  splendour  of  verse  —  our  supreme 
accomplishment. 

Then  with  one  big  bellow,  the  collapse  of  pursiness,  he 
abandons  his  pedestal  of  universal  critic ;  prostrate  he  falls 
to  the  foreigner;  he  is  down,  he  is  roaring;  he  is  washing 
his  hands  of  English  performances,  lends  ear  to  foreign 
airs,  patronises  foreign  actors,  browses  on  reports  from 
camps  of  foreign  armies.  He  drops  his  head  like  a  smitten 
ox  to  all  great  foreign  names,  moaning  "Shakespeare!" 
internally  for  a  sustaining  apostrophe.  He  wellnigh  loves 
his  poets,  can  almost  understand  what  poetry  means.  If 
it  does  not  pay,  it  brings  him  fame,  respectfulness  in  times 
of  reverse.  Brains,  he  is  reduced  to  apprehend,  brains 
are  the  generators  of  the  conquering  energies.  He  is  now 
for  brains  at  all  costs,  he  has  gained  a  conception  of  them. 


OP  THE  GREAT  MR.   BULL  201 

He  is  ready  to  knock  knighthood  on  the  heads  of  men  of 
brains  —  even  Hterary  brains.  They  shall  be  knights,  an 
ornamental  body.  To  make  them  peers,  and  a  legislative, 
has  not  struck  him,  for  he  has  not  yet  imagined  them  a  stable 
body.  They  require  petting,  to  persuade  them  to  flourish 
and  bring  him  esteem. 

This  is  Mr.  Bull,  our  image  before  the  world,  whose 
pranks  are  passed  as  though  the  vivid  display  of  them  had 
no  bad  effect  on  the  nation.  Doubtless  the  perpetual 
mirror,  the  slavish  mirror,  is  to  blame,  but  his  nakedness 
does  not  shrink  from  the  mirror,  he  likes  it  and  he  is  proud 
of  it.  Beneath  these  exhibitions  the  sober  strong  spirit 
of  the  country,  unfortunately  not  a  prescient  one,  nor  an 
attractively  loveable,  albeit  of  a  righteous  benevolence, 
labours  on,  doing  the  hourly  duties  for  the  sake  of  con- 
science, little  for  prospective  security,  little  to  win  affection. 
Behold  it  as  the  donkey  of  a  tipsy  costermonger,  obedient 
to  go  without  the  gift  of  expression.  Its  behaviour  is 
honourable  under  a  discerning  heaven,  and  there  is  ever 
something  pathetic  in  a  toilful  speechlessness;  but  it  is  of 
dogged  attitude  in  the  face  of  men.  Salt  is  in  it  to  keep  our 
fleshly  grass  from  putrefaction;  poets  might  proclaim  its 
virtues.  They  will  not;  they  are  averse.  The  only  voice 
it  has  is  the  Puritan  bray,  upon  which  one  must  philosophise 
asinically  to  unveil  the  charm.  So  the  world  is  pleased  to 
let  it  be  obscured  by  the  paunch  of  Bull.  We  have,  how- 
ever, isolated  groups,  individuals  in  all  classes,  by  no 
means  delighting  in  his  representation  of  them.     When 


202  CELT  AND   SAXON 

such  is  felt  to  be  the  case  among  a  sufficient  number,  his 
bards  blow  him  away  as  a  vapour;  we  hear  that  he  is  a 
piece  of  our  English  humour  —  we  enjoy  grotesques  and 
never  should  agree  to  paint  ourselves  handsome:  our  subtle 
conceit  insists  on  the  reverse.  Nevertheless,  no  sooner  are 
the  hours  auspicious  to  fatness  than  Bull  is  back  on  us; 
he  is  our  family  goat,  ancestral  ghost,  the  genius  of  our 
comfortable  sluggishness.  And  he  is  at  times  a  mad  Bull: 
a  foaming,  lashing,  trampling,  horn-driving,  excessive,  very 
parlous  Bull.  It  is  in  his  history  that  frenzies  catch  him, 
when  to  be  yoked  to  him  is  to  suffer  frightful  shakings,  not 
to  mention  a  shattering  of  our  timbers.  It  is  but  in  days 
of  the  rousing  of  the  under-spirit  of  the  country,  days  of 
storm  imprudent  to  pray  the  advent  of,  that  we  are  well 
rid  of  him  for  a  while.  In  the  interim  he  does  mischief, 
serious  mischief;  he  does  worse  than  when,  a  juvenile,  he 
paid  the  Dannegelt  for  peace.  Englishmen  of  feeling  do 
not  relish  him.  For  men  with  Irish  and  Cambrian  blood 
in  their  veins  the  rubicund  grotesque,  with  his  unimpres- 
sionable front  and  his  noisy  benevolence  of  the  pocket,  his 
fits  of  horned  ferocity  and  lapses  of  hardheartedness,  is  a 
shame  and  a  loathing.  You  attach  small  importance  to 
images  and  symbols;  yet  if  they  seem  representative,  and 
they  sicken  numbers  of  us,  they  are  important.  The  hat 
we  wear,  though  it  is  not  a  part  of  the  head,  stamps  the 
character  of  our  appearance  and  has  a  positive  influence 
on  our  bearing.  Symbolical  decorations  will  stimulate  the 
vacant-minded  to  act  up  to  them,  they  encircle  and  solidify 


OF  THE  GREAT  MR.   BULL  203 

the  mass;  they  are  a  sword  of  division  between  Celts  and 
Saxons  if  they  are  abhorrent  to  one  section.  And  the  CeUic 
brotherhood  are  not  invariably  fools  in  their  sensitiveness. 
They  serve  you  on  the  field  of  Mars,  and  on  other  fields  to 
which  the  world  has  given  glory.  These  execrate  him  as 
the  full-grown  Golden  Calf  of  heathenish  worship.  And 
they  are  so  restive  because  they  are  so  patriotic.  Think 
a  little  upon  the  ideas  of  unpatriotic  Celts  regarding  him. 
You  have  heard  them.  You  tell  us  they  are  you:  accu- 
rately, they  affirm,  succinctly  they  see  you  in  his  crescent 
outlines,  tame  bulk,  spasms  of  alarm  and  foot  on  the 
weaker;  his  imperviousness  to  whatsoever  does  not  con- 
front the  sensual  eye  of  him  with  a  cake  or  a  fist,  his  relig- 
ious veneration  of  his  habitual  indulgences,  his  peculiar 
forms  of  nightmare.  They  swear  to  his  perfect  personifi- 
cation of  your  moods,  your  Saxon  moods,  which  their 
inconsiderate  spleen  would  have  us  take  for  unmixedly 
Saxon.  They  are  unjust,  but  many  of  them  speak  with  a 
sense  of  the  foot  on  their  necks,  and  they  are  of  a  blood 
demanding  a  worshipworthy  idea.  And  they  dislike  Bull's 
bellow  of  disrespect  for  their  religion,  much  bruited  in  the 
meadows  during  his  periods  of  Arcadia.  They  dislike  it, 
cannot  forget  the  sound :  it  hangs  on  the  afflicted  drum  of 
the  ear  when  they  are  in  another  land,  perhaps  when  the 
old  devotion  to  their  priest  has  exi^ired.  For  this,  as  well 
as  for  material  reasons,  they  hug  the  hatred  they  packed 
up  among  their  bundles  of  necessaries  and  relics,  in  the 
flight  from  home,  and  they  instruct  their  children  to  keep 


204  CELT  AND  SAXON 

it  burning.  They  transmit  the  sentiment  of  the  loathing  of 
Bull,  as  assuredly  they  would  be  incapable  of  doing,  even 
with  the  will,  were  a  splendid  fire-eyed  motherly  Britannia 
the  figure  sitting  in  the  minds  of  men  for  our  image  —  a 
palpitating  figure,  alive  to  change,  penetrable  to  thought, 
and  not  a  stolid  concrete  of  our  traditional  old  yeoman 
characteristic.  Verily  he  lives  for  the  present,  all  for  the 
present,  will  be  taught  in  sorrow  that  there  is  no  life  for  him 
but  of  past  and  future:  his  delusion  of  the  existence  of  a 
present  hour  for  man  will  not  outlast  the  season  of  his 
eating  and  drinking  abundantly  in  security.  He  will  per- 
ceive that  it  was  no  more  than  the  spark  shot  out  from  the 
clash  of  those  two  meeting  forces;  and  penitently  will  he 
gaze  back  on  that  misleading  spark  —  the  spectral  planet  it 
bids  wink  to  his  unreceptive  stars  —  acknowledging  him 
the  bare  machine  for  those  two  to  drive,  no  instrument  of 
enjo\Tnent.  He  lives  by  reading  rearward  and  seeing  van- 
ward.  He  has  no  actual  life  save  in  power  of  imagination. 
He  has  to  learn  this  fact,  the  great  lesson  of  all  men. 
Furthermore  there  may  be  a  future  closed  to  him  if  he  has 
thrown  too  extreme  a  task  of  repairing  on  that  bare  ma- 
chine of  his.  The  sight  of  a  broken-down  plough  is 
mournful,  but  the  one  thing  to  do  with  it  is  to  remove  it 
from  the  field. 

Among  the  patriotic  of  stout  English  substance,  who 
blew  in  the  trumpet  of  the  country,  and  were  not  bards  of 
Bull  to  celebrate  his  firmness  and  vindicate  his  shiftings, 
Richard  Rockney  takes  front  rank.    A  journalist  altogether 


OF  THE  GREAT  MR.    BULL  205 

given  up  to  his  craft,  considering  the  audience  he  had 
gained,  he  was  a  man  of  forethought  besides  being  a 
trenchant  writer,  and  he  was  profoundly,  not  less  than 
eminently,  the  lover  of  Great  Britain.  He  had  a  manner 
of  utterance  quite  in  the  tone  of  the  familiar  of  the  ante- 
chamber for  proof  of  his  knowing  himself  to  be  this  person. 
He  did  not  so  much  write  articles  upon  the  health  of  his 
mistress  as  deliver  Orphic  sentences.  He  was  in  one  her 
physician,  her  spiritual  director,  her  man-at-arms.  Public 
allusions  to  her  were  greeted  with  his  emphatic  assent  in  a 
measured  pitch  of  the  voice,  or  an  instantaneous  flourish 
of  the  rapier;  and  the  flourish  was  no  vain  show.  He 
meant  hard  steel  to  defend  the  pill  he  had  prescribed  for 
her  constitutional  state,  and  the  monition  for  her  soul's 
welfare.  Nor  did  he  pretend  to  special  privileges  in  assum- 
ing his  militant  stand,  but  simply  that  he  had  studied  her 
case,  was  intimate  with  her  resources,  and  loved  her  hotly, 
not  to  say  inspiredly.  Love  her  as  well,  you  had  his  cordial 
hand;  as  wisely,  then  all  his  weapons  to  back  you.  There 
were  occasions  when  distinguished  officials  and  Parlia- 
mentary speakers  received  the  impetus  of  Rockney's  ap- 
proval and  not  hesitatingly  he  stepped  behind  them  to 
bestow  it.  The  act,  in  whatever  fashion  it  may  have  been 
esteemed  by  the  objects  propelled,  was  a  sign  of  his  willing- 
ness to  let  the  shadow  of  any  man  adopting  his  course 
obscure  htm,  and  of  the  simplicity  of  his  attachment.  If 
a  bitter  experience  showed  that  frequently,  indeed  gener- 
ally, they  travelled  scarce  a  tottering  stagger  farther  than 


206  CELT  AND  SAXON 

they  were  precipitated,  the  wretched  consolation  afforded 
by  a  side  glance  at  a  more  enlightened  passion,  solitary  in 
its  depth,  was  Rockney's.  Others  perchance  might  equal 
his  love,  none  the  wisdom  of  it;  actually  none  the  vigilant 
circumspection,  the  shaping  forethought.  That  clear 
knowledge  of  the  right  thing  for  the  country  was  grasped 
but  by  fits  by  others.  Enough  to  profit  them  this  way  and 
yonder  as  one  best  can!  You  know  the  newspaper  Press 
is  a  mighty  engine.  Still  he  had  no  delight  in  shuffling  a 
puppetry;  he  would  have  preferred  automatic  figures.  Hb 
calls  for  them  resounded  through  the  wilderness  of  the 
wooden. 

Any  solid  conviction  of  a  capable  head  of  a  certainty 
impressed  upon  the  world,  and  thus  his  changes  of  view 
were  not  attributed  to  a  fluctuating  devotion;  they  passed 
out  of  the  range  of  criticism  upon  inconsistency,  notwith- 
standing that  the  commencement  of  his  journalistic  career 
smelt  of  sources  entirely  opposed  to  the  conclusions  upon 
which  it  broadened.  One  secret  of  the  belief  in  his  love 
of  his  country  was  the  readiness  of  Rockney's  pen  to  sup- 
port our  nobler  patriotic  impulses,  his  relish  of  the  bluff 
besides.  His  eye  was  on  our  commerce,  on  our  courts  of 
Law,  on  our  streets  and  alleys,  our  army  and  navy,  our 
colonies,  the  vaster  than  the  island  England,  and  still  he 
would  be  busy  picking  up  needles  and  threads  in  the  island. 
Deeds  of  valour  were  noted  by  him,  lapses  of  cowardice: 
how  one  man  stood  against  a  host  for  law  or  humanity,  how 
crowds  looked  on  at  the  beating  of  a  woman,  how  a  good 


OP  THE  GREAT  MR.   BULL  207 

fight  was  maintained  in  some  sly  ring  between  two  of 
equal  brawn :  and  manufacturers  were  warned  of  the  con- 
sequences of  their  iniquities,  Government  was  lashed  for 
sleeping  upon  shaky  ordinances,  colonists  were  gibbeted 
for  the  maltreating  of  natives:  the  ring  and  fervour  of  the 
notes  on  daily  events  told  of  Rockney's  hand  upon  the 
national  heart  —  with  a  faint,  an  enforced,  reluctant  indi- 
cation of  our  not  being  the  men  we  were. 

But  after  all,  the  main  secret  was  his  art  of  writing  round 
English,  instead  of  laborious  Latinised  periods:  and  the 
secret  of  the  art  was  his  meaning  what  he  said.  It  was  the 
personal  throb.  The  fire  of  a  mind  was  translucent  in 
Press  columns  where  our  public  had  been  accustomed  to 
the  rhetoric  of  primed  scribes.  He  did  away  with  the 
Biscay  billow  of  the  leading  article  —  Bull's  favourite 
prose-bardic  construction  of  sentences  that  roll  to  the 
antithetical  climax,  whose  foamy  top  is  offered  and  gulped 
as  equivalent  to  an  idea.  Writing  of  such  a  kind  as 
Ilockney's  was  new  to  a  land  where  the  political  opinions 
of  Joint  Stock  Companies  had  rattled  Jovian  thunders 
obedient  to  the  nod  of  Bull.  Though  not  alone  in  working 
the  change,  he  was  the  foremost.  And  he  was  not  devoid 
of  style.  Fervidness  is  the  core  of  style.  He  was  a  tough 
opponent  for  his  betters  in  education,  struck  forcibly, 
fenced  dexterously,  was  always  alert  for  debate.  An  en- 
counter between  Swift  and  Johnson,  were  it  imaginable, 
would  present  us  probably  tlie  most  prodigious  Giganto- 
machy  in  literary  polemics.     It  is  not  imaginable  among 


208  CELT  AND  SAXON 

comparative  pygmies.  But  Rockney's  combat  with  his 
fellow-politicians  of  the  Press  partook  of  the  Swiftian 
against  the  Johnsonian  in  form.  He  was  a  steam  ram  that 
drove  straight  at  the  bulky  broadside  of  the  enemy. 

Premiers  of  parties  might  be  Captains  of  the  State  for 
Rockney:  Rockney  was  the  premier's  pilot,  or  woe  to  him. 
Woe  to  the  country  as  well,  if  Rockney's  directions  for 
steering  were  unheeded.  He  was  a  man  of  forethought, 
the  lover  of  Great  Britain :  he  shouted  his  directions  in  the 
voice  of  the  lover  of  his  mistress,  urged  to  rebuke,  some- 
times to  command,  the  captain  by  the  prophetic  intimations 
of  a  holier  alliance,  a  more  illumined  prescience.  Reefs 
here,  shallows  there,  yonder  a  foul  course:  this  is  the  way 
for  ycu  1  The  refusal  of  the  captain  to  go  this  way  caused 
Rockney  sincerely  to  discredit  the  sobriety  of  his  intellect. 
It  was  a  drunken  captain.  Or  how  if  a  traitorous?  We 
point  out  the  danger  to  him,  and  if  he  will  run  the  country 
on  to  it,  we  proclaim  him  guilty  either  of  inebriety  or  of 
treason  —  the  alternatives  are  named :  one  or  the  other 
has  him.  Simple  unfitness  can  scarcely  be  conceived  of  a 
captain  having  our  common  senses  and  a  warranted  pilot 
at  his  elbow. 

Had  not  Rockney  been  given  to  a  high  expression  of 
opinion,  plain  in  fervour,  he  would  often  have  been  exposed 
bare  to  hostile  shafts.  Style  cast  her  aegis  over  hira.  He 
wore  an  armour  in  which  he  could  walk,  run  and  leap  —  a 
natural  style.  The  ardour  of  his  temperament  suffused 
the  directness  of  his  intelligence  to  produce  it,  and  the  two 


OF  THE   GREAT  MR,   BULL  209 

qualities  made  his  weakness  and  stpength.  Feeling  the 
nerve  of  strength,  the  weakness  was  masked  to  him.  while 
his  opponents  were  equally  insensible  to  the  weakness  under 
the  force  of  his  blows.  Thus  there  was  nothing  to  teach 
him,  or  reveal  him,  except  Time,  whose  trick  is  to  turn 
corners  of  unanticipated  sharpness,  and  leave  the  directly 
seeing  and  ardent  to  dash  at  walls. 

How  rigidly  should  the  man  of  forethought  govern  him- 
self, question  himself!  how  constantly  wrestle  with  him- 
self 1  And  if  he  be  a  writer  ebullient  by  the  hour,  how 
snappishly  suspect  himself,  that  he  may  feel  in  conscience 
worthy  of  a  hearing  and  have  perpetually  a  conscience  in 
his  charge!  For  on  what  is  his  forethought  founded? 
Does  he  try  the  ring  of  it  with  our  changed  conditions? 
But  a  man  of  forethought  who  has  to  be  one  of  our  geysers 
ebullient  by  the  hour  must  live  days  of  fever.  His  appre- 
hensions distemper  his  blood;  the  scrawl  of  them  on  the 
dark  of  the  undeveloped  dazzles  his  brain.  He  sees  in 
time  little  else;  his  very  sincereness  twists  him  awry. 
Such  a  man  has  the  stuff  of  the  born  journalist,  and  journal- 
ism is  the  food  of  the  age.  Ask  him,  however,  midway  in 
his  running,  what  he  thinks  of  quick  breathing:  he  will 
answer  that  to  be  a  shepherd  on  the  downs  is  to  be  more  a 
man.  As  to  the  gobbling  age,  it  really  thinks  better  of  him 
than  he  of  it. 

After  a  term  of  prolonged  preachification  he  is  compelled 
to  lash  that  he  may  less  despise  the  age.  He  hsis  to  do  it 
for  hir  own  sake.     O  gobbling  age!  swallowing  all,  digest- 


210  CELT  AND  SAXON 

ing  nought,  us  too  you  have  swallowed,  O  insensate 
mechanism !  and  we  will  let  you  know  you  have  a  stomach. 
Furiously  we  disagree  with  you.  We  are  in  you  to  lead 
you  or  work  you  pangs! 

Rockney  could  not  be  a  mild  sermoniser  commenting  on 
events.  Rather  no  journalism  at  all  for  him !  He  thought 
the  office  of  the  ordinary'  daily  preacher  cow-like.  His 
gadfly  stung  him  to  warn,  dictate,  prognosticate;  he  was 
the  oracle  and  martyr  of  superior  vision :  and  as  in  affairs 
of  business  and  the  weighing  of  men  he  was  of  singularly 
cool  sagacity,  hard  on  the  downright,  open  to  the  humours 
of  the  distinct  discrimination  of  things  in  their  roughness, 
the  knowledge  of  the  firmly-based  materialism  of  his  nature 
caused  him  thoroughly  to  trust  to  his  voice  when  he  de- 
livered it  in  ardour  —  a  circumstance  coming  to  be  of  daily 
recurrence.  Great  love  creates  forethoughtf ulness,  without 
which  incessant  journalism  is  a  gabble.  He  was  sure  of 
'is  love,  but  who  gave  ear  to  his  prescience?  Few:  the 
."cho  of  the  country  now  and  then,  the  Government  not 
Dften.  And,  dear  me!  those  jog-trot  sermonisers,  mere 
commentators  upon  events,  manage  somehow  to  keep  up 
the  sale  of  their  journals:  advertisements  do  not  flow  and 
ebb  with  them  as  under  the  influence  of  a  capricious  moon. 
Ah,  what  a  public!  Serve  it  honourably,  you  are  in  peril 
of  collapsing:  show  it  nothing  but  the  likeness  of  its  dull 
animal  face,  you  are  steadily  inflated.  These  reflections 
within  us!  Might  not  one  almost  say  that  the  retreat  for 
the  prophet  is  the  wilderness,  far  from  the  hustled  editor's 


OF  THE  GREAT  MR.   BULL  211 

desk;  and  annual  should  be  the  uplifting  of  his  voice 
instead  of  diurnal,  if  only  to  spare  his  blood  the  distemper  ? 
A  fund  of  gout  was  in  Rockney's,  and  he  had  begun  to 
churn  it.  Between  gouty  blood  and  luminous  brain  the 
strife  had  set  in  which  does  not  conduce  to  unwavering 
sobriety  of  mind,  though  ideas  remain  closely  consecutive 
and  the  utterance  resonant. 

Never  had  he  been  an  adulator  of  Bull.  His  defects  as 
well  as  his  advantages  as  a  politician  preserved  to  him  this 
virtue.  Insisting  on  a  future,  he  could  not  do  homage 
to  the  belying  simulacrum  of  the  present.  In  the  season 
of  prosperity  Rockney  lashed  the  old  fellow  with  the  crisis 
he  was  breeding  for  us;  and  when  prostration  ensued  no 
English  tongue  was  loftier  in  preaching  dignity  and  the 
means  of  recovery.  Our  monumental  image  of  the  Misuse 
of  Peace  he  pointed  out  unceasingly  as  at  a  despot  con- 
structed by  freemen  out  of  the  meanest  in  their  natures 
to  mock  the  gift  of  liberty.  His  articles  of  foregone  years 
were  an  extraordinary  record  of  events  or  conditions  fore- 
seen :  seductive  in  the  review  of  them  by  a  writer  who  has 
to  be  still  foreseeing:  nevertheless,  that  none  of  them  were 
bardic  of  Bull,  and  that  our  sound  man  would  have  acted 
wisely  in  heeding  some  of  the  prescriptions,  constituted 
their  essential  merit,  consolatory  to  think  of,  though  pain- 
ful. The  country  has  gone  the  wrong  road,  but  it  may  yet 
cross  over  to  the  right  one,  when  it  perceives  that  we  were 
prophetic. 

Compared  with  the  bolts  discharged  at  Bull  by  Rockney's 


212  CELT  AND  SAXOX 

artillery,  Captain  Con  O'Donnell's  were  popgun-pellets. 
Only  Rockney  fired  to  chasten,  Con  O'Donnell  for  a 
diversion,  to  appease  an  animus.  The  revolutionist  in 
English  journalism  was  too  devoutly  patriotic  to  belabour 
even  a  pantomime  mask  that  was  taken  as  representative 
of  us  for  the  disdainful  fun  of  it.  Behind  the  plethoric 
lamp,  now  blown  with  the  fleshpots,  now  gasping  puffs 
of  panic,  he  saw  the  well-minded  valorous  people,  issue  of 
glorious  grandsires;  a  nation  under  a  monstrous  deface- 
ment, stupefied  by  the  contemplation  of  the  mask:  his 
vision  was  of  the  great  of  old,  the  possibly  great  in  the 
graver  strife  ahead,  respecters  of  life,  despisers  of  death, 
the  real  English:  whereas  an  alienated  Celtic  satirist, 
through  his  vivid  fancy  and  his  disesteem,  saw  the  country 
incarnate  in  Bull,  at  most  a  roguish  screw-kneed  clown  to 
be  whipped  out  of  him.  Celt  and  Saxon  are  much  inmixed 
with  us,  but  the  prevalence  of  Saxon  blood  is  evinced  by 
the  public  disregaj-d  of  any  Celtic  conception  of  the  hon- 
ourable and  the  loveable;  so  that  the  Celt  anxious  to 
admire  is  rebutted,  and  the  hatred  of  a  Celt,  quick  as  he 
is  to  catch  at  images,  has  a  figure  of  hugeous  animalism 
supplied  to  his  malign  contempt.  Rockney's  historic  Eng- 
land, and  the  living  heroic  England  to  slip  from  that  dull 
hide  in  a  time  of  trial,  whether  of  war  or  social  suffering, 
he  cannot  see,  nor  a  people  hardening  to  Spartan  linea- 
ments in  the  fire,  iron  men  to  meet  disaster,  worshippers 
of  a  discerned  God  of  Laws,  and  just  men  too,  thinking  to 
do  justice;  he  has  Bull  on  the  eye,  the  alternately  braggart 


OF  THE  GREAT  MR,   BULL  213 

and  poltroon,  sweating  in  labour  that  he  may  gorge  the 
fruits,  graceless  to  a  scoffer.  And  this  is  the  creature  to 
whose  tail  he  is  tied!  Hereditary  hatred  is  approved  by 
critical  disgust.  Some  spirited  brilliancy,  some  persistent 
generosity  (other  than  the  guzzle's  flash  of  it),  might  soften 
him;  something  sweeter  than  the  slow  animal  well-mean- 
ingness  his  placable  brethren  point  his  attention  to.  It  is 
not  seen,  and  though  he  can  understand  the  perils  of  a 
severance,  he  prefers  to  rub  the  rawness  of  his  wound  and 
be  ready  to  pitch  his  cap  in  the  air  for  it,  out  of  sheer  blood- 
loathing  of  a  connection  that  offers  him  nothing  to  admire, 
nothing  to  hug  to  his  heart.  Both  below  and  above  the 
blind  mass  of  discontent  in  his  island,  the  repressed  senti- 
ment of  admiration  —  or  passion  of  fealty  and  thirst  to  give 
himself  to  a  visible  brighter  —  is  an  element  of  the  division : 
meditative  young  Patrick  O'Donnell  early  in  his  reflections 
had  noted  that:  —  and  it  is  partly  a  result  of  our  daily  habit 
of  tossing  the  straw  to  the  monetary  world  and  doting  on 
ourselves  in  the  mirror,  until  our  habitual  doings  are 
viewed  in  a  bemused  complacency  by  us,  and  the  scum' 
surface  of  the  countrj'  is  flashed  about  as  its  vital  being. 
A  man  of  forethought  using  the  Press  to  spur  Parliament 
to  fitly  represent  the  people,  and  writing  on  his  daily  topics 
with  strenuous  original  vigour,  even  though,  like  Rockney, 
he  sets  the  teeth  of  the  Celt  gnashing  at  him,  goes  a  step 
nearer  to  the  bourne  of  pacification  than  Press  and  Parlia- 
ment reflecting  the  popular  opinion  that  law  must  be  passed 
to  temper  Ireland's  cruptiveness;    for  that  man  can  be 


214  CELT  AND   SAXON 

admired,  and  the  Celt,  in  combating  him,  will  like  an  able 
and  gallant  enemy  better  than  a  grudgingly  just,  lumber- 
some,  dull,  politic  friend.  The  material  points  in  a  division 
are  always  the  stronger,  but  the  sentimental  are  here  very 
strong.  Pass  the  laws;  they  may  put  an  extinguisher  on 
the  Irish  Vesuvian;  yet  to  be  loved  you  must  be  a  little 
perceptibly  admirable.  You  may  be  so  self-satisfied  as  to 
dispense  with  an  ideal:  your  yokefellow  is  not;  it  is  his 
particular  form  of  strength  to  require  one  for  his  proper 
blooming,  and  he  does  bloom  beautifully  in  the  rays  he 
courts. 

Ah,  then,  seek  to  be  loved,  and  banish  Bull.  Believe 
in  a  future  and  banish  that  gross  obscuration  of  you.  De- 
cline to  let  that  old-yeoman-turned  alderman  stand  any 
longer  for  the  national  man.  Speaking  to  the  brain  of  the 
country,  one  is  sure  of  the  power  of  a  resolute  sign  from  it 
to  dismiss  the  brainless.  Banish  him  your  revels  and  your 
debatings,  prohibit  him  your  Christmas,  lend  no  ear  either 
to  his  panics  or  his  testiness,  especially  none  to  his  rages; 
do  not  report  him  at  all,  and  he  will  soon  subside  into  his 
domestic,  varied  by  pothouse,  privacy.  The  brain  should 
lead,  if  there  be  a  brain.  Once  free  of  him,  you  will  know 
that  for  half  a  century  you  have  appeared  bottom  upward 
to  mankind.  And  you  have  wondered  at  the  absence  of 
love  for  you  under  so  astounding  a  presentation.  Even  in 
a  Bull,  beneficent  as  he  can  dream  of  being,  when  his  no- 
tions are  in  a  similar  state  of  inversion,  should  be  sheepish 
in  hope  for  love. 


OF  THE  GREAT  MR.   BULL  215 

He,  too,  whom  you  call  the  Welshman,  and  deride  for 
his  delight  in  songful  gatherings,  harps  to  wild  Wales, 
his  Cambrian  highlands,  and  not  to  England.  You  have 
not  yet,  though  he  is  orderly  and  serviceable,  allured  his 
imagination  to  the  idea  of  England.  Despite  the  passion 
for  his  mountains  and  the  boon  of  your  raising  of  the  inter- 
dict (within  a  hundred  years)  upon  his  pastors  to  harangue 
him  in  his  native  tongue,  he  gladly  ships  himself  across  the 
waters  traversed  by  his  Prince  Madoc  of  tradition,  and 
becomes  contentedly  a  transatlantic  citizen,  a  member  of 
strange  sects  —  he  so  inveterate  in  faithfulness  to  the  hoar 
and  the  legendary!  —  Anything  rather  than  Anglican.  The 
C}Tnry  bear  you  no  hatred;  their  affection  likewise  is  un- 
defined. But  there  is  reason  to  think  that  America  has 
caught  the  imagination  of  the  Cambrian  Celt:  names  of 
Welshmen  are  numerous  in  the  small  army  of  the  States 
of  the  Union ;  and  where  men  take  soldier-service  they  are 
usually  fixed,  they  and  their  children.  Here  is  one,  not 
very  deeply  injured  within  a  century,  of  ardent  tempera- 
ment, given  to  be  songful  and  loving;  he  leaves  you  and 
forgets  you.  Be  certain  that  the  material  grounds  of 
division  are  not  all.  To  pronounce  it  his  childishness  pro- 
vokes the  retort  upon  your  presented  shape.  He  cannot 
admire  it.     Gaelic  Scots  wind  the  same  note  of  repulsion. 

And  your  poets  are  in  a  like  predicament.  Your  poets 
are  the  most  persuasive  of  springs  to  a  lively  general 
patriotism.  They  are  in  the  Celtic  dilemma  of  standing  at 
variance  with  Bull;  they  return  him  his  hearty  antipathy. 


216  CELT  AND  SAXON 

are  unable  to  be  epical  or  lyrical  of  him,  are  condemned 
to  expend  their  genius  upon  the  abstract,  the  quaint,  the 
picturesque.  Nature  they  read  spiritually  or  sensually, 
always  shrinkingly  apart  from  him.  They  swell  to  a  re- 
semblance of  their  patron  if  they  stoop  to  woo  his  purse. 
He  has,  on  hearing  how  that  poets  bring  praise  to  nations, 
as  in  fact  he  can  now  understand  his  Shakespeare  to  have 
done,  been  seen  to  thump  the  midriff  and  rally  them  for 
their  shyness  of  it,  telling  them  he  doubts  them  true  poets 
while  they  abstain  from  singing  him  to  the  world  —  him, 
and  the  things  refreshing  the  centre  of  him.  Ineffectual 
is  that  encouragement.  Were  he  in  the  fire,  melting  to  the 
iron  man,  the  backbone  of  him,  it  would  be  different.  At 
his  pleasures  he  is  anti-hjonnic,  repellent  to  song.  He  has 
perceived  the  virtues  of  Peace,  without  the  brother  eye  for 
the  need  of  virtuousness  to  make  good  use  of  them  and 
inspire  the  poet.  His  own  enrolled  unrhythmical  bardic 
troops  (humorous  mercenaries  when  Celts)  do  his  trumpet- 
ing best,  and  offend  not  the  Pierides. 

This  interlude,  or  rather  inter-drone,  repulsive  to  write, 
can  hardly  be  excluded  from  a  theme  dramatising  Celtic 
views,  and  treating  of  a  blood,  to  which  the  idea  of  countr*' 
must  shine  resplendently  if  we  would  have  it  running  at  full 
tide  through  the  arteries.  Preserve  your  worship,  if  the 
object  fills  your  optics.  Better  worship  that  than  nothing, 
as  it  is  better  for  flames  to  be  blown  out  than  not  to  ascend, 
otherwise  it  will  v.i-. ak  circular  mischief  instead  of  illumin- 
ing.    You  are  re.- guested  simply  to  recollect  that  there  is 


OF  THE  GREAT  MR.   BULL  217 

another  beside  you  who  sees  the  object  obliquely,  and  then 
you  will  not  be  surprised  by  his  irreverence.  What  if,  in 
the  end,  you  were  conducted  to  a  like  point  of  view  ?  Self- 
worship,  it  has  been  said,  is  preferable  to  no  trimming  of 
the  faculty,  but  worship  does  not  necessarily  cease  with  the 
extinction  of  this  of  the  voraciously  carnal.  An  ideal  of 
countrj',  of  Great  Britain,  is  conceivable  that  will  be  to  the 
taste  of  Celt  and  Saxon  in  common,  to  wave  as  a  standard 
over  their  fraternal  marching.  Let  Bull  boo  his  drumliest 
at  such  talk:  it  is,  I  protest,  the  thing  we  want  and  can 
have.  He  is  the  obstruction,  not  the  country;  and  against 
him,  not  against  the  country,  the  shots  are  aimed  which 
seem  so  malignant.  Him  the  gay  manipulators  propitiate 
who  look  at  him  through  Literature  and  the  Press,  and 
across  the  pulpit-cushions,  like  airy  Macheath  at  Society, 
as  carrion  to  batten  on.  May  plumpness  be  their  portion, 
and  they  never  hanged  for  it!  But  the  flattering,  tickling, 
pleasantly  pinching  of  Bull  is  one  of  those  offices  which  the 
simple  starveling  piper  regards  with  a  fresh  access  of  appe- 
tite for  the  well-picked  bone  of  his  virtue.  That  ghastly 
apparition  of  the  fleshly  present  is  revealed  to  him  as  a 
dead  whale,  having  the  harpoon  of  the  inevitable  slayer  of 
the  merely  fleshly  in  his  oils.  To  humour  him,  and  be  his 
piper  for  his  gifts,  is  to  descend  to  a  carnival  deep  under- 
neath. While  he  reigns,  thinks  this  poor  starveling,  Rome 
burns,  or  the  explosive  powders  are  being  secretly  laid.  He 
and  his  thousand  Macheaths  are  dancing  the  country  the 
giddy  pace,  and  there  will,  tlie  wretch  dreads,  be  many  a 


218  CELT  AND   SAXON 

crater  of  scoria  in  the  island,  before  he  stretches  his  inani- 
mate length,  his  parasites  upon  him.  The  theme  is  chosen 
and  must  be  treated  as  a  piper  involved  in  his  virtue  con- 
ceives it:  that  is,  realistically ;  not  with  Bull's  notion  of  the 
realism  of  the  butcher's  shop  and  the  pendent  legs  of  mut- 
ton and  blocks  of  beef  painted  raw  and  glaring  in  their, 
streaks,  but  with  the  realism  of  the  active  brain  and  heart 
conjoined.  The  reasons  for  the  division  of  Celt  and  Saxon, 
what  they  think  and  say  of  one  another,  often  without 
knowing  that  they  are  divided,  and  the  wherefore  of  our 
abusing  of  ourselves,  brave  England,  our  England  of  the 
ancient  fortitude  and  the  future  incarnation,  can  afford  to 
hear.  AVhy  not  in  a  tale?  It  is  he,  your  all  for  animal 
pleasure  in  the  holiday  he  devours  and  cannot  enjoy,  whose 
example  teaches  you  to  shun  the  plaguey  tale  that  carries 
fright:  and  so  you  find  him  sour  at  business  and  sick  of 
his  relaxings,  hating  both  because  he  harnesses  himself  in 
turn  bestially  to  each,  growling  at  the  smallest  admixture 
of  them,  when,  if  he  would  but  chirp  a  little  over  his  work, 
and  allow  his  pleasures  to  inspire  a  dose  of  thoughtfulness, 
he  would  be  happier,  and  —  who  knows  ?  —  become  a 
brighter  fellow,  one  to  be  rescued  from  the  polc-axc. 

Now  the  rain  is  over,  your  carriage  is  at  the  door,  the 
country  smiles  and  the  wet  highway  waves  a  beckoning 
hand.  We  have  worn  through  a  cloud  with  cloudy  dis- 
courses, but  we  are  in  a  land  of  shifting  weathers,  "coelum 
crebris  imbribus  ac  nebulis  foedum,"  not  every  chapter 
can  be  sunshine. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


CROSSING  THE   RUBICON 


Rough  weather  on  the  Irish  sea  discharged  a  pallid  file 
of  passengers  from  the  boat  at  Holyhead  just  as  the  morn- 
ing sun  struck  wave  and  mountain  with  one  of  the  sudden 
sparkling  changes  which  our  South-westers  have  in  their 
folds  to  tell  us  after  a  tumultuous  night  that  we  have  only 
been  worried  by  Puck.  The  scene  of  frayed  waters  all 
rosy-golden,  and  golden-banded  heathery  height,  with  the 
tinted  sand,  breaking  to  flights  of  blue,  was  resplendent  for 
those  of  our  recent  sea-farers  who  could  lift  an  eye  to  enjoy 
it.  Freshness,  illumination,  then  salt  air,  vivid  distances, 
were  a  bath  for  every  sense  of  life.  You  could  believe  the 
breast  of  the  mountain  to  be  heaving,  the  billows  to  be 
kissing  fingers  to  him,  the  rollers  shattered  up  the  cliff  to 
have  run  to  extinction  to  scale  him.  He  seemed  in  his 
clear-edged  mass  King  of  this  brave  new  boundless  world 
built  in  a  minute  out  of  the  wreck  of  the  old. 

An  hour  back  the  vessel  was  labouring  through  ruef'i! 

chasms  under  darkness,  and  then  did  the  tricksy  Soutli- 

west  administer  grisly  slaps  to  right  and  left,  whizzinir 

spray  across  the  starboard  beam,  and  drenching  the  locks 

219 


220  CELT  AND   SAXON 

of  a  young  lady  who  sat  cloaked  and  hooded  in  frieze  to 
teach  her  wilfulness  a  lesson,  because  she  would  keep  her 
place  on  deck  from  beginning  to  end  of  the  voyage.  Her 
faith  in  the  capacity  of  Irish  frieze  to  turn  a  deluge  of  the 
deeps  driven  by  an  Atlantic  gale  was  shaken  by  the  time 
she  sighted  harbour,  especially  when  she  shed  showers  by 
flapping  a  batlike  wing  of  the  cloak,  and  had  a  slight  shud- 
der to  find  herself  trickling  within. 

"Dear!  and  I'm  wet  to  the  skin,"  she  confided  the  fact 
to  herself  vocally. 

"You  would  not  be  advised,"  a  gentleman  beside  her 
said  after  a  delicate  pause  to  let  her  impulsive  naturalism 
of  utterance  fly  by  unwounded. 

"And  aren't  you  the  same  and  worse?  And  not  liking 
it  either,  I  fear,  sir  I"  she  replied,  for  despite  a  manful 
smile  his  complexion  was  tell-tale.  "But  there's  no  harm 
in  salt.  But  you  should  have  gone  down  to  the  cabin  with 
Father  Boyle  and  you  would  have  been  sure  of  not  catching 
cold.  But,  Oh!  the  beautiful  .  .  .  look  at  it!  And  it's 
my  first  view  of  England.  Well,  then,  I'll  say  it's  a  beau- 
tiful country." 

Her  companion  looked  up  at  the  lighted  sky,  and  down 
at  the  pools  in  tarpaulin  at  his  feet.  He  repressed  a  dispo- 
sition to  shudder,  and  with  the  anticipated  ecstasy  of  soon 
jumping  out  of  wet  clothes  into  dry,  he  said:  "I  should 
like  to  be  on  the  top  of  that  hill  now." 

The  young  lady's  eyes  flew  to  the  top. 

"Thev  sav  he  looks  on  Ireland;    I  love  him;    and  his 


CROSSING   THE   RUBICON  221 

name  is  Caer  Gybi;  and  it  was  one  of  our  Saints  gave  him 
the  name,  I've  read  in  books.     I'll  be  there  before  noon." 

"You  want  to  have  a  last  gaze  over  to  Erin?" 

"No,  it's  to  walk  and  feel  the  breeze.   But  I  do,  though." 

"Won't  you  require  a  little  rest?" 

"Sure  and  I've  had  it  sitting  here  all  night!"  said  she. 

He  laughed :  the  reason  for  the  variation  of  exercise  was 
conclusive. 

Fathc"  Boyle  came  climbing  up  the  ladder,  uncertain  of 
his  legs;  he  rolled  and  snatched  and  tottered  on  his  way 
to  them,  and  accepted  the  gentleman's  help  of  an  arm, 
saying:  "Thank  ye,  thank  ye,  and  good  morning,  Mr 
Colesworth.  And  my  poor  child!  what  sort  of  a  night 
has  it  been  above,  Kathleen  ?" 

He  said  it  rather  twinkling,  and  she  retorted: 

"What  sort  of  a  night  has  it  been  below,  Father  Boyle  ?" 
Her  twinkle  was  livelier  than  his,  compassionate  in  arch- 
ness. 

"Purgatory  past  is  good  for  contemplation,  my  dear. 
'Tis  past,  and  there's  the  comfort!  You  did  well  to  be 
out  of  that  herring-barrel,  Mr.  Colesworth.  I  hadn't  the 
courage,  or  I  would  have  burst  from  it  to  take  a  ducking 
with  felicity.  1  haven't  thrown  up  my  soul ;  that's  the  most 
I  can  say.  I  thought  myself  nigh  on  it  once  or  twice. 
And  an  amazing  kind  steward  it  was,  or  I'd  have  counted 
the  man  for  some  one  else.   Surely  'tis  a  glorious  morning  ?" 

Mr.  Colesworth  responded  heartily  in  praise  of  tlie 
morning.     He  was  beginning  to  fancy  that  he  felt  the 


222  CELT  AND   SAXON 

warmth  of  spring  sunshine  on  his  back.  He  flung  up  his 
head  and  sniffed  the  air,  and  was  very  Hke  a  horse  fretful 
for  the  canter;  so  like  as  to  give  Miss  Kathleen  an  idea  of 
the  comparison.  She  could  have  rallied  him ;  her  laughing 
eyes  showed  the  readiness,  but  she  forbore,  she  drank  the 
scene.  Her  face,  with  the  threaded  locks  about  forehead 
and  cheeks,  and  the  dark,  the  blue,  the  rosy  red  of  her  lips, 
her  eyes,  her  hair,  was  just  such  a  south-western  sky  as 
April  drove  above  her,  the  same  in  colour  and  quickness; 
and  much  of  her  spirit  was  the  same,  enough  to  stand  for  a 
resemblance.  But  who  describes  the  spirit?  Xo  one  at 
the  gates  of  the  field  of  youth.  AYhen  Time  goes  reaping 
he  will  gather  us  a  sheaf,  out  of  which  the  picture  springs. 

"There's  our  last  lurch,  glory  to  the  breakwater!"  ex- 
claimed Father  Boyle,  as  the  boat  pitched  finally  outside 
the  harbour  fence,  where  a  soft  calm  swell  received  them 
with  the  greeting  of  civilised  sea-nymphs.  "The  captain'll 
have  a  quieter  passage  across.  You  may  spy  him  on  the 
pier.     We'll  be  meeting  him  on  the  landing." 

"If  he's  not  in  bed,  from  watching  the  stars  all  niijht," 
said  Miss  Kathleen. 

"He  must  have  had  a  fifty-lynx  power  of  sight  for  that, 
my  dear." 

"They  did  appear,  though,  and  wonderfully  bright," 
she  said.  "I  saw  them  come  out  and  go  in.  It's  not  all 
cloud  when  the  high  wind  blows." 

"You  talk  like  a  song,  Kathleen." 

"Couldn't  I  rattle  a  throat  if  I  were  at  home,  Father!" 


CROSSING  THE   RUBICON  223 

"Ah!  we're  in  the  enemy's  country  now." 

Miss  Kathleen  said  she  would  go  below  to  get  the  hand- 
bags from  the  stewardess. 

Mr.  Colesworth's  brows  had  a  little  darkened  over  the 
Rev.  Gentleman's  last  remark.  He  took  two  or  three 
impatient  steps  up  and  down  with  his  head  bent.  "Pardon 
me;  I  hoped  we  had  come  to  a  better  understanding,"  he 
said.  "Is  it  quite  fair  to  the  country  and  to  Miss  O'Don- 
nell  to  impress  on  her  before  she  knows  us  that  England  is 
the  enemy?" 

"Habit,  Mr.  Colesworth,  habit!  we've  got  accustomed 
to  the  perspective  and  speak  accordingly.  There's  a 
breach  visible." 

"I  thought  you  agreed  with  me  that  good  efforts  are 
being  made  on  our  side  to  mend  the  breach." 

"Sir,  you  have  a  noble  minority  at  work,  no  doubt;  and 
I  take  you  for  one  of  the  noblest,  as  not  objecting  to  stand 
next  to  alone." 

"I  really  thought,  judging  from  our  conversation  at 
Mrs.  O'Donnell's  that  evening,  that  you  were  going  to  hold 
out  a  hand  and  lead  your  flock  to  the  right  sort  of  fellow- 
ship with  us." 

"To  submission  to  the  laws,  Mr.  Colesworth;  'tis  my 
duty  to  do  it  as  pastor  and  citizen." 

"No,  to  more  than  that,  sir.  You  spoke  with  friendly 
warmth." 

"The  atmosphere  was  genial,  if  you  remember  the 
whisky  and  the  fumes  of  our  tobacco  at  one  o'clock!" 


224  CELT   AND   SAXON 

"I  shall  recollect  the  evening  with  the  utmost  pleasure. 
You  were  kind  enough  to  instruct  me  in  a  good  many 
things  I  shall  be  sure  to  profit  by.  I  wish  I  could  have 
spent  more  time  in  Ireland.  As  it  is,  I  like  Irishmen  so 
well  that  if  the  whole  land  were  in  revolt  I  should  never 
call  it  the  enemy's  country." 

"Excellently  spoken,  Mr.  Colesworth,"  said  the  priest. 
"We'll  hope  your  writings  may  do  service  to  mend  the 
breach.  For  there  is  one,  as  you  know,  and  more's  the 
pity;  there's  one,  and  it's  wide  and  deep.  As  my  friend 
Captain  Con  O'Donnell  says,  it's  plain  to  the  naked  eye 
as  a  pair  of  particularly  fat  laundry  drawers  hung  out  to 
dry  and  ballooned  in  extension  —  if  mayhap  you've  ever 
seen  the  sight  of  them  in  that  state:  —  just  held  together 
by  a  narrow  neck  of  thread  or  button,  and  stretching  away 
like  a  corpulent  frog  in  the  act  of  swimming  on  the  wind. 
His  comparison  touches  the  sentiment  of  disunion,  sir." 

Mr.  Colesworth  had  not  ever  seen  such  a  pair  of  laundry 
drawers  inflated  to  symbolise  the  breach  between  Ireland 
and  England;  nor  probably,  if  he  had,  would  the  sentiment 
of  national  disunion  have  struck  his  mind:  it  was  diflicult 
to  him  in  the  description.  He  considered  his  Rev.  friend 
to  be  something  of  a  slippery  fish,  while  Father  Boyk^'s 
opinion  of  him  likewise  referred  him  to  an  elemental  sub- 
stance, of  slow  movement  —  earth,  in  short:  for  he  con- 
tinued to  look  argumentative  after  all  had  been  said. 

Or  perhaps  he  threw  a  coveting  eye  on  sweet  Miss 
Kaliilccn  and  had  his  own  idea  of  mending  a  stitch  of  the 


CROSSING  THE   RUBICON  225 

breach  in  a  quite  domestic  way.  If  so,  the  Holy  Father 
would  have  a  word  to  say,  let  alone  Kathleen.  The  maids 
of  his  Church  do  not  espouse  her  foes.  For  the  men  it  is 
another  matter:  that  is  as  the  case  may  be.  Temporarily 
we  are  in  cordial  intercourse,  Mr.  Colesworth. 

Miss  Kathleen  returned  to  deck  carrying  her  bags.  The 
gentleman  had  to  descend,  and  subsequently  an  amiable 
dissension  arose  on  the  part  of  the  young  lady  and  Mr. 
Colesworth.  She,  however,  yielded  one  of  her  bags,  and 
he,  though  doubly  laden,  was  happy.  All  very  transparent 
to  pastoral  observation,  but  why  should  they  not  be  left  to 
their  chirruping  youthf ulness  ?  The  captain  was  not  in 
view,  and  Father  Boyle  wanted  to  go  to  bed  for  refreshment, 
and  Kathleen  was  an  airy  gossamer,  with  a  boy  running 
after  it,  not  by  any  means  likely  to  catch  it,  or  to  keep  it 
if  he  did.     Proceed  and  trip  along,  you  young  onesl 

At  the  hotel  they  heard  that  Captain  Con  O'Donnell  was 
a  snug  sleeper  upstairs.  This,  the  captain  himself  very 
soon  informed  them,  had  not  been  the  kernel  of  the  truth. 
He  had  fancied  they  would  not  cross  the  Channel  on  so 
rattlesome  a  night,  or  Kathleen  would  have  had  an  Irish 
kiss  to  greet  her  landing  in  England.  But  the  cousinly 
salute  was  little  delayed,  news  of  the  family  in  Ireland  and 
England  was  exchanged,  and  then  Mr.  Colesworth  and  the 
captain  bowed  to  an  introduction;  and  the  captain,  at 
mention  of  his  name,  immediately  cried  out  that  Mr. 
Colesworth  might  perchance  be  a  relative  of  the  highly  in- 
telligent admirable  lady  who  had  undertaken  the  secretary- 


226  CELT  AND   SAXON 

ship,  and  by  her  vast  ability  got  the  entire  management,  of 
Miss  Mattock's  benevolent  institution,  and  was  conducting 
it  with  such  success  that  it  was  fast  becoming  a  grief  to  the 
generous  heart  of  the  foundress  of  the  same  to  find  it  not 
only  self-paying,  but  on  the  road  to  a  fortune,  inasmuch  as 
it  was  already  an  article  in  the  decrees  of  fashion  among 
the  nobility  and  gentry  of  both  sexes  in  the  metropolis  to 
have  their  linen  and  laces  washed  at  the  Mattock  laundry. 

Mr.  Colesworth  said  he  was  the  brother  of  the  lady  in 
question,  he  had  also  the  pleasure  of  an  acquaintance  with 
Miss  Mattock.  He  was  vehemently  congratulated  on  the 
relationship,  which  bore  witness,  the  captain  affirmed,  to 
a  certain  hereditary  share  of  brains  greatly  to  be  envied: 
brother  of  ]\Iiss  Colesworth,  a  title  of  distinction  in  itself! 
He  was  congratulated  not  less  cordially  for  his  being  so 
fortunate  as  to  know  Miss  Mattock,  one  of  a  million. 

Captain  Con  retained  the  hand  of  Father  Boyle  and 
squeezed  it  during  his  eulogies,  at  the  same  time  dispersing 
nods  and  winks  and  sunny  sparkles  upon  Kathleen.  Mr. 
Colesworth  went  upstairs  to  his  room  not  unflattered.  The 
flattery  enveloped  him  in  the  pleasant  sense  of  a  somehow 
now  established  companionship  for  the  day  with  a  pleasant 
person  from  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  separate. 

"You  made  the  gentleman's  acquaintance,  my  dear 
...    ?"  said  Con. 

Kathleen  answered :  "  He  made  friends  with  our  Patrick 
on  the  Continent,  I  think  it  was  in  Germany,  and  came  to 
us  to  study  the  old  country,  bearing  a  letter  from  Patrick. 


CROSSING  THE  RUBICON  227 

He  means  to  be  one  of  their  writers  on  the  newspapers. 
He  studies  everything;  he  has  written  books.  He  called 
on  us  coming  and  called  on  us  going  and  we  came  over 
together,"  said  Miss  Kathleen.  "But  tell  me:  our 
Philip?" 

"Books!"  Con  exclaimed.  "It's  hard  to  discover  a  man 
in  these  days  who  hasn't  written  books.  Oh!  Philip! 
Ease  your  heart  about  Philip.  They're  nursing  him 
round.  He  was  invalid  at  the  right  moment  for  him,  no 
fear.  I  gave  him  his  chance  of  the  last  vacant  seat  up  to 
the  last  hour,  and  now  the  die  is  cast  and  this  time  I'm  off 
to  it.  Poor  Philip  —  yes,  yes!  we're  sorry  to  see  him  flat 
all  his  length,  we  love  him;  he's  a  gallant  soldier;  alive 
to  his  duty;  and  that  bludgeon  sun  of  India  knocked  him 
down,  and  that  fall  from  his  horse  finished  the  business, 
and  there  he  lies.  But  he'll  get  up,  and  he  might  have 
accepted  the  seat  and  spared  me  my  probation:  he's  not 
married,  I  am,  I  have  a  wife,  and  Master  Philip  divides  me 
against  my  domestic  self,  he  does.  But  let  that  be:  I 
serve  duty  too.  Not  a  word  to  our  friend  up  yonder.  It's 
a  secret  with  a  time-fuse  warranted  to  explode  safe  enough 
when  the  minutes  are  up,  and  make  a  powerful  row  when 
it  does.  It  is  all  right  over  there,  Father  Boyle,  I  sup- 
pose .' 

"A  walk  over!  a  pure  ceremonial,"  said  the  priest,  and 
he  yawned  frightfully. 

"You're  for  a  nap  to  recompose  you,  my  dear  friend," 
remarked  the  captain. 


228  CELT  AND   SAXON 

"But  you  haven't  confided  anything  of  it  to  Mrs. 
Adister?" 

"Not  a  syllable;  no.  That's  to  come.  There's  my 
contest!  I  had  urgent  business  in  Ireland,  and  she's  a 
good  woman,  always  willing  to  let  me  go.  I  count  on  her 
kindness,  there's  no  mightier  compliment  to  one's  wife. 
She'll  know  it  when  it's  history.  She's  fond  of  history. 
Ay,  she  hates  fiction,  and  so  I'm  proud  to  tell  her  I  offer 
her  none.  She  likes  a  trifling  surprise  too,  and  there  she 
has  it.  Oh!  we  can  whip  up  the  business  to  a  nice  little 
bowl  of  froth-flummery.  But  it's  when  the  Parliamentary 
voting  is  on  comes  the  connubial  pull.  She's  a  good  woman, 
a  dear  good  soul,  but  she's  a  savage  patriot;  and  Philip 
might  have  saved  his  kinsman  if  he  had  liked.  He  had 
only  to  say  the  word:  I  could  have  done  all  the  business 
for  him,  and  no  contest  to  follow  by  my  fireside.  He's  on 
his  couch  —  Mars  convalescent :  a  more  dreadful  attraction 
to  the  ladies  than  in  his  crimson  plumes  I  If  the  fellow 
doesn't  let  slip  his  opportunity!  with  his  points  of  honour 
and  being  an  Irish  Bayard.  Why  Bayard  in  the  nineteenth 
century's  a  Bedlamite,  Irish  or  no.  So  I  tell  him.  There 
he  is;  you'll  see  him,  Kathleen:  and  one  of  them  as  big  an 
heiress  as  any  in  England.     Philip's  no  fool,  you'll  find." 

"Then  he's  coming  all  riglit,  is  he?"  said  Kathleen. 

"He's  a  soldier,  and  a  good  one,  but  he's  nothing  more, 
and  as  for  patriotic  inflammation,  doesn't  know  the  sen- 
sation." 

"Oh!   but  he's  coming  round,  and  you'll  go  and  stroke 


CROSSING  THE   RUBICON  229 

down  mother  with  that,"  Kathleen  cried.  "Her  heart's 
been  heavy,  with  Patrick  wandering  and  Philip  on  his 
back.     I'll  soon  be  dressed  for  breakfast." 

Away  she  went. 

"She's  got  an  appetite,  and  looks  like  a  strapped  bit  of 
steel  after  the  night's  tumbling,"  said  the  captain,  seeing 
her  trip  aloft.  "I'm  young  as  that  too,  or  not  far  off  it. 
Stay,  I'll  order  breakfast  for  four  in  a  quiet  comer  where 
we  can  converse  —  which,  by  the  way,  won't  be  possible 
in  the  presence  of  that  gaping  oyster  of  a  fellow,  who  looks 
as  if  he  were  waiting  the  return  of  the  tide." 

Father  Boyle  interposed  his  hand. 

"Not  for  .  .  ."he  tried  to  add  "four."  The  attempt 
at  a  formation  of  the  word  produced  a  cavernous  yawn: 
a  volume  of  the  distressful  deep  to  the  beholder. 

"Of  course,"  Captain  Con  assented.  He  proposed  bed 
and  a  sedative  therein,  declaring  that  his  experience  over- 
night could  pronounce  it  good,  and  that  it  should  be  hot. 
So  he  led  his  tired  old  friend  to  the  bedroom,  asked  dozens 
of  questions,  flurried  a  withdrawal  of  them,  suggested  the 
answers,  talked  of  his  Rubicon,  praised  his  wife,  delivered 
a  moan  on  her  behalf,  and  after  assisting  to  half  disrobe  the 
scarce  animate  figure,  which  lent  itself  like  an  artist's  lay- 
model  to  the  operation,  departed  on  his  mission  of  the 
sedative. 

At  the  breakfast  for  three  he  was  able  to  tell  Kathleen 
that  the  worthy  Father  was  warm,  and  on  his  way  to  com- 
plete restoration. 


230  CELT  AND  SAXON 

"Full  fathom  five  the  Father  lies,  in  the  ocean  of  sleep, 
by  this  time,"  said  Con.  "And  'tis  a  curious  fact  that  every 
man  in  that  condition  seems  enviable  to  men  on  their  legs. 
And  similarly  with  death;  we'd  rather  not,  because  of  a 
qualm,  but  the  picture  of  the  finish  of  the  leap  across  is 
a  taking  one.  These  chops  are  done  as  if  Nature  had 
mellowed  their  juiciness." 

"They  are  so  nice,"  Kathleen  said. 

"You  deserve  them,  if  ever  girl  in  this  world!" 

"I  sat  on  deck  all  night,  and  Mr.  Colesworth  would  keep 
me  company." 

"He  could  hardly  do  less,  having  the  chance.  But  that 
notwithstanding,  I'm  under  an  obligation  to  your  cavalier. 
And  how  did  you  find  Ireland,  sir  ?  You've  made  acquaint- 
ance with  my  cousin,  young  Mr.  Patrick  O'Donnell,  J 
rejoice  to  hear." 

"Yes,  through  his  hearing  or  seeing  my  name  and  sus- 
pecting I  had  a  sister,"  said  INIr.  Colesworth,  who  was  no 
longer  in  the  resemblance  of  a  gaping  oyster  on  the  borders 
of  the  ebb.     "The  country  is  not  disturbed." 

"So  the  doctor  thinks  his  patient  is  doing  favourably! 
And  you  cottoned  to  Patrick?  And  I  don't  wonder. 
Where  was  it?" 

"We  met  in  Trieste.  He  was  about  to  start  by  one  of 
the  Austrian  boats  for  the  East." 

"Not  disturbed!  no!  with  a  rotten  potato  inside  it 
paralysing  digestion ! "  exclaimed  Con.  "  Now  Patrick  had 
been  having  a  peep  at  Vienna,  hadn't  he?" 


CROSSING  THE   RUBICON  231 

"He  had;  he  was  fresh  from  Vienna  when  I  met  him. 
As  to  Ireland,  the  harvest  was  only  middling  good  last 
year." 

"And  that's  the  bit  of  luck  we  depend  on.  A  cloud  too 
much,  and  it's  drowned  1  Had  he  seen,  do  you  know, 
anybody  in  Vienna  ?  —  you  were  not  long  together  at 
Trieste?" 

Mr.  Colesworth  had  sufficient  quickness  to  perceive  that 
the  two  questions  could  be  answered  as  one,  and  saying: 
"He  was  disappointed,"  revealed  that  he  and  Patrick  had 
been  long  enough  together  to  come  to  terms  of  intimacy. 

"To  be  sure,  he  gave  you  a  letter  of  introduction  to  his 
family !"  said  Con.  "And  permit  me  to  add,  that  Patrick's 
choice  of  a  friend  is  mine  on  trust.  The  lady  he  was  for 
seeing,  Mr.  Colesworth,  was  just  then  embarking  on  an 
adventure  of  a  romantic  character,  particularly  well  suited 
to  her  nature,  and  the  end  of  it  was  a  trifle  sanguinary,  and 
she  suffered  a  disappointment  also,  though  not  perhaps  on 
that  account." 

"I  heard  of  it  in  England  last  year,"  said  Mr.  Coles- 
worth.    "Did  she  come  through  it  safely?" 

"Without  any  personal  disfigurement:  and  is  in  England 
now,  under  her  father's  roof,  meditating  fresh  adventures." 

Kathleen  cried:  "Ye' re  talking  of  the  lady  who  was 
Miss  Adister  —  I  can  guess  —  Ah!"  She  humped  her 
shoulders  and  sent  a  shudder  up  her  neck. 

"But  she's  a  grand  creature,  Mr.  Colesworth,  and  you 
ought  to  know  her,"  said  Con.     "That  is,  if  you'd  like  to 


232  CELT  AND  SAXON 

have  an  idea  of  a  young  Catherine  or  a  Semiramis  —  minus 
an  army  and  a  country.  There's  nothing  she's  not  capable 
of  aiming  at.  And  there's  pretty  well  nothing  and  nobody 
she  wouldn't  make  use  of.  She  has  great  notions  of  the 
power  of  the  British  Press  and  the  British  purse  —  each  in 
turn  as  a  key  to  the  other.     Xow  for  an  egg,  Kathleen." 

"I  think  I'll  eat  an  egg,"  Kathleen  replied. 

"Bless  the  honey  heart  of  the  girl!  Life's  in  you,  my 
dear,  and  calls  for  fuel.  I'm  glad  to  see  that  Mr.  Coles- 
worth  too  can  take  a  sight  at  the  Sea-God  after  a  night  of 
him.  It  augurs  magnificently  for  a  future  career.  And 
let  me  tell  you  that  the  Pen  demands  it  of  us.  The  first  of 
the  requisites  is  a  stout  stomach  —  before  a  furnished  head ! 
I'd  not  pass  a  man  to  be  anything  of  a  writer  who  couldn't 
step  ashore  from  a  tempest  and  consume  his  Titan  break- 
fast." 

"We  are  qualifying  for  the  literary  craft,  Miss  O'Don- 
nell,"  said  Mr.  Colesworth. 

"It's  for  a  walk  in  the  wind  up  Caer  Gybi,  and  along 
the  coast  I  mean  to  go,"  said  Kathleen. 

"This  morning?"  the  captain  asked  her. 

She  saw  his  dilemma  in  his  doubtful  look. 

"When  I've  done.  While  you're  discussing  matters 
with  Father  Boyle.  I  know  you're  burning  to.  Sure  it's 
yourself  knows  as  well  as  anybody,  Captain  Con,  that  I  can 
walk  a  day  long  and  take  care  of  my  steps.  I've  walked 
the  better  half  of  Donegal  alone,  and  this  morning  I'll  have 
a  protector." 


CROSSING   THE   RUBICON  23S 

Captain  Con  eyed  the  protector,  approved  of  him,  dis- 
approved of  himself,  thought  of  Kathleen  as  a  daughter  of 
Erin  —  a  privileged  and  inviolate  order  of  woman  in  the 
minds  of  his  countr\Tnen  —  and  wriggling  internally  over 
a  remainder  scruple  said:  "Mr.  Colesworth  mayhap  has 
to  write  a  bit  in  the  morning." 

"I'm  unattached  at  present,"  the  latter  said.  "I  am 
neither  a  correspondent  nor  a  reporter,  and  if  I  were,  the 
event  would  be  wanting." 

"That  remark,  sir,  shows  you  to  be  eminently  a  stranger 
to  the  official  duties,"  observed  the  captain.  "Journalism 
is  a  maw,  and  the  journalist  has  to  cram  it,  and  like  any- 
thing else  which  perpetually  distends  for  matter,  it  must 
be  filled,  for  you  can't  leave  it  gaping,  so  when  nature  and 
circumstance  won't  combine  to  produce  the  stuff,  we  have 
recourse  to  the  creative  arts.  'Tis  the  necessity  of  the 
profession." 

"The  profession  will  not  impose  that  necessity  upon 
me,"  remarked  the  young  practitioner. 

"Outside  the  wheels  of  the  machine,  sir,  we  indulge  our 
hallucination  of  immunity.  I've  been  one  in  the  whirr  of 
them,  relating  what  I  hadn't  quite  heard,  and  capitulating 
what  I  didn't  think  at  all,  in  spite  of  the  cry  of  my  con- 
science —  a  poor  infant  below  the  waters,  casting  up  ejacu- 
latory  bubbles  of  protestation.  And  if  it  is  my  roj^roach 
that  I  left  it  to  the  perils  of  drowning,  it's  my  pride  that  T 
continued  to  transmit  air  enough  to  carry  on  the  .struggle. 
Not  every  journalist  can  say  as  much.     The  Press  is  the 


234  CELT  AND   SAXON 

voice  of  the  mass,  and  our  private  opinion  is  detected  as 
a  discord  by  the  mighty  beast,  and  won't  be  endured  by 
him." 

"It's  better  not  to  think  of  him  quite  as  a  beast,"  said 
Mr.  Colesworth. 

"Infinitely  better:  and  I  like  your  'guile,'  sir!  But 
wait  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  him  after  tossinp^  him 
his  meat  for  a  certain  number  of  years.  There's  Rocknoy. 
Do  you  know  Rockney  ?  He's  the  biggest  single  gun  they've 
got,  and  he's  mad  for  this  country,  but  ask  him  about  the 
public,  you'll  hear  the  menagerie-keeper's  opinion  of  the 
brute  that  mauled  his  loins." 

"Rockney,"  said  Mr.  Colesworth,  "has  the  tone  of  a 
man  disappointed  of  the  dictatorship." 

"Then  you  do  know  Rockney!"  shouted  Captain  Con. 
"That's  the  man  in  a  neat  bit  of  drawing.  He's  a  grand 
piece  of  ordnance.  But  wait  for  him  too,  and  tell  me  by 
and  by.  If  it  isn't  a  woman,  you'll  find,  that  primes  him, 
ay,  and  points  him,  and  what's  more,  discharges  him,  I'm 
not  Irish  born.  Poor  fellow!  I  pity  him.  He  had  a 
sweet  Irish  lady  for  his  wife,  and  lost  her  last  year,  and  has 
been  raging  astray  politically  ever  since.  I  suppose  it's 
hardly  the  poor  creature's  fault.  None  the  less,  you  know, 
we  have  to  fight  him.  And  now  he's  nibbling  at  a  bait  — 
it's  fun:  the  lady  I  mentioned,  with  a  turn  for  adventure 
and  enterprise:  it's  rare  fun:  —  he's  nibbling,  he'll  be 
hooked.  You  must  make  her  acquaintance,  Mr.  Coles- 
worth, and  hold  your  own  against  her,  if  you  can.     She's 


CROSSING  THE  RUBICON  235 

a  niece  of  my  wife's  and  I'll  introduce  you.  I  shall  find 
her  in  London,  or  at  our  lodgings  at  a  Surrey  farm  we've 
taken  to  nurse  my  cousin  Captain  Philip  O'Donnell  in- 
valided from  India  —  an  awful  climate !  —  on  my  return, 
when  I  hope  to  renew  the  acquaintance.  She  has  beauty, 
she  has  brains.  Resist  her,  and  you'll  make  a  decent  stand 
against  Lucifer.  And  supposing  she  rolls  you  up  and 
pitches  you  over,  her  noticing  you  is  a  pretty  compliment 
to  your  pen.     That'll  be  consoling." 

Mr.  Colesworth  fancied,  he  said,  that  he  was  proof 
against  feminine  blandishments  in  the  direction  of  his 
writings. 

He  spoke  as  one  indicating  a  thread  to  suggest  a  cable. 
The  captain  applauded  the  fancy  as  a  pleasing  delusion  of 
the  young  sprigs  of  Journalism. 

Upon  this,  Mr.  Colesworth,  with  all  respect  for  French 
intelligence,  denied  the  conclusiveness  of  French  generalisa- 
tions, which  ascribed  to  women  universal  occult  dominion, 
and  traced  all  great  affairs  to  small  intrigues. 

The  captain's  eyes  twinkled  on  him,  thinking  how 
readily  he  would  back  smart  Miss  Kathleen  to  do  the  trick, 
if  need  were. 

He  said  to  her  before  she  started:  "Don't  forget  he 
may  be  a  clever  fellow  with  that  pen  of  his,  and  useful  to 
our  party." 

"I'll  not  forget,"  said  she. 

For  the  good  of  his  party,  then,  Captain  Con  permitted 
her  to  take  the  walk  up  Caer  Gybi  alone  with  ISIr.  Coles- 


236  CELT  AND  SAXON 

worth:  a  memorable  walk  in  the  recollections  of  the  scribe, 
because  of  the  wonderful  likeness  of  the  young  lady  to  the 
breezy  weather  and  the  sparkles  over  the  deep,  the  cloud 
that  frowned,  the  cloud  that  glowed,  the  green  of  the  earth 
greening  out  from  under  wings  of  shadow,  the  mountain 
ranges  holding  hands  about  an  immensity  of  space.  It 
was  one  of  our  giant  days  to  his  emotions,  and  particularly 
memorable  to  him  through  the  circumstance  that  it  insisted 
on  a  record  in  verse,  and  he  was  unused  to  the  fetters  of 
metre:  and  although  the  verse  was  never  seen  by  man,  his 
attempt  at  it  confused  his  ideas  of  his  expressive  powers. 
Oddly  too,  while  scourging  the  lines  with  criticism,  he  had 
a  fondness  for  them:  they  stamped  a  radiant  day  in  his 
mind,  beyond  the  resources  of  rhetoric  to  have  done  it 
equally. 

This  was  the  day  of  Captain  Con's  crossing  the  Rubicon 
between  the  secret  of  his  happiness  and  a  Parliamentary 
career. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


CAPTAIN   CON  S   LETTER 


Women  may  be  able  to  tell  you  why  the  nursing  of  a 
military  invalid  awakens  tenderer  anxieties  in  their  bosoms 
than  those  called  forth  by  the  drab  civilian.  If  we  are 
under  sentence  of  death  we  are  all  of  us  pathetic,  of  course ; 
but  stretched  upon  the  debateable  couch  of  sickness  we  are 
not  so  touching  as  the  coloured  coat:  it  has  the  distinction 
belonging  to  colour.  It  smites  a  deeper  nerve,  or  more 
than  one;  and  this,  too,  where  there  is  no  imaginary  sub- 
jection to  the  charms  of  military  glory,  in  minds  to  which 
the  game  of  war  is  lurid  as  the  plumes  of  the  arch-slayer. 

Jane  Mattock  assisting  Mrs.  Adister  O'Donnell  to  re- 
store Captain  Philip  was  very  singularly  affected,  like  a 
person  shut  off  on  a  sudden  from  her  former  theories  and 
feelings.  Theoretically  she  despised  the  soldier's  work  as 
much  as  she  shrank  abhorrently  from  bloodshed.  She 
regarded  him  and  his  trappings  as  an  ensign  of  our  old 
barbarism,  and  could  peruse  platitudes  upon  that  theme 
with  enthusiasm.  The  soldier  personally,  she  was  ac- 
customed to  consider  an  inferior  intelligence:  a  sort  of 
schoolboy  when  young,  and  schoolmaster  when  mature: 
a  visibly  limited  creature,  not  a  member  of  our  broader 

237 


238  CELT  AND  SAXON 

world.  Without  dismissing  any  of  these  views  she  found 
them  put  aside  for  the  reception  of  others  of  an  opposite 
character;  and  in  her  soul  she  would  have  ascribed  it  to 
her  cares  of  nursing  that  she  had  become  thoughtful, 
doubtful,  hopeful,  even  prayerful,  surcharged  with  zeal  to 
help  to  save  a  good  sword  for  the  country.  If  in  a  world 
still  barbarous  we  must  have  soldiers,  here  was  one  whom 
it  would  be  grievous  to  lose.  He  had  fallen  for  the  country ; 
and  there  was  a  moving  story  of  how  he  had  fallen.  She 
inclined  to  think  more  highly  of  him  for  having  courted 
exposure  on  a  miserable  frontier  war  where  but  a  poor 
sheaf  of  glory  could  be  gathered.  And  he  seemed  to  esti- 
mate his  professional  duties  apart  from  an  aim  at  the 
laurels.  A  conception  of  the  possibility  of  a  man's  being 
both  a  soldier  and  morally  a  hero  edged  its  way  into  her 
understanding.  It  stood  edgeways  within,  desirous  of 
avoiding  a  challenge  to  show  every  feature. 

The  cares  of  nursing  were  Jane's  almost  undividedly, 
except  for  the  aid  she  had  from  her  friend  Grace  Barrow 
and  from  INIiss  Colesworth.  Mrs.  Adister  O'Donnell  was 
a  nurse  in  name  only.  "She'll  be  seen  by  Philip  like  as 
if  she  were  a  nightmare  apparition  of  his  undertaker's 
wraith,"  Captain  Con  said  to  Jane,  when  recommending 
his  cousin  to  her  charitable  nature,  after  he  had  taken 
lodgings  at  a  farmhouse  near  Mrs.  Lackstraw's  model 
farm  Woodside  on  the  hills.  "Barring  the  dress,"  as  he 
added,  some  such  impression  of  her  frigid  mournfulness 
might  have  struck  a  recumbent  invalid.     Jane  acknowl- 


CAPTAIN  con's  letter  239 

edged  it,  and  at  first  induced  her  aunt  to  join  her  in  the 
daily  walk  of  half  a  mile  to  sit  with  him.  Mrs.  Lackstraw 
was  a  very  busy  lady  at  her  farm ;  she  was  often  summoned 
to  London  by  her  intuition  of  John's  wish  to  have  her 
presiding  at  table  for  the  entertainment  of  his  numerous 
guests;  she  confessed  that  she  supervised  the  art  of  nursing 
better  than  she  practised  it,  and  supervision  can  be  done  at 
a  distance  if  the  subordinate  is  properly  attentive  to  the 
rules  we  lay  down,  as  Jane  appeared  to  be.  So  Jane  was 
left  to  him.  She  loved  the  country;  Springtide  in  the 
country  set  her  singing;  her  walk  to  her  patient  at  Lap- 
pett's  farm  and  homeward  was  an  aethereal  rapture  for  a 
heart  rocking  easy  in  fulness.  There  was  nothing  to 
trouble  it,  no  hint  of  wild  winds  and  heavy  seas,  not  even 
the  familiar  insinuation  from  the  vigilant  monitress,  her 
aunt,  to  bid  her  be  on  her  guard,  beware  of  what  it  is  that 
great  heiresses  are  courted  for,  steel  her  heart  against 
serpent  speeches,  see  well  to  have  the  woman's  precious 
word  No  at  the  sentinel's  post,  and  alert  there.  Mrs. 
Lackstraw,  the  most  vigilant  and  plain-spoken  of  her  sex, 
had  forborne  to  utter  the  usual  warnings  which  were  to 
preserve  Miss  Mattock  for  her  future  Earl  or  Duke:  and 
the  reason  why  she  forbore  was  a  double  one;  a  soldier 
and  Papist  could  never  be  thought  perilous  to  a  young 
woman  scorning  the  sons  of  Mars  and  slaves  of  sacerdotal- 
ism. The  picture  of  Jane  bestowing  her  hand  on  a  Roman 
Catholic  in  military  uniform,  refused  to  be  raised  before 
the  mind.     Charitableness,  humaneness,  the  fact  that  she 


24)  CELT  AND  S.\XON 

was  an  admirable  nurse  and  liked  to  exercise  her  natural 
gift,  perfectly  accounted  for  Jane's  trips  to  Lappett's 
farm,  and  the  jellies  and  fresh  dairy  dainties  and  neat  little 
dishes  she  was  constantly  despatching  to  the  place.  A 
suggestion  of  possible  danger  might  prove  more  dangerous 
than  silence,  by  rendering  it  attractive.  Besides,  Jane 
talked  of  poor  Captain  Philip  as  Patrick  O'Donnell's 
brother,  whom  she  was  bound  to  serve  in  return  for  Pat- 
rick's many  services  to  her;  and  of  how  unlike  Patrick  he 
was.  Mrs.  Lackstraw  had  been  apprehensive  about  her 
fancy  for  Patrick.  Therefore  if  Captain  Philip  was  unlike 
him,  and  strictly  a  Catholic,  according  to  report,  the  sus- 
picion of  danger  dispersed,  and  she  was  allowed  to  enjoy 
the  pleasures  of  the  metropolis  as  frequently  as  she  chose. 
The  nursing  of  a  man  of  Letters,  or  of  the  neighbour  to  him, 
a  beggar  in  rags,  would  not  have  been  so  tolerated.  Thus 
we  perceive  that  wits  actively  awake  inside  the  ring- 
fence  of  prepossessions  they  have  erected  may  lull  them- 
selves with  their  wakefulness.  Who  would  have  thought! 
—  is  the  cry  when  the  strongest  bulwark  of  the  fence  is 
broken  through. 

Jane  least  of  any  would  have  thought  what  was  coming 
to  pass.  The  pale  square-browed  young  ofBcer,  so  little 
Irish  and  winning  in  his  brevity  of  speech,  did  and  said 
nothing  to  alarm  her  or  strike  the  smallest  light.  Grace 
Barrow  noticed  certain  little  changes  of  mood  in  Jane: 
she  could  scarcely  have  had  *  distinct  suspicion  at  the 
time.     After  a  recent  observation  of  him,  on  an  evening 


CAPTAIN  con's   letter  241 

stroll  from  Lappett's  to  Woodside,  she  pronounced  him 
interesting,  but  hard.  "He  has  an  interesting  head  .  .  . 
I  should  not  like  to  offend  him."  They  agreed  as  to  his 
unlikeness  to  fluid  Patrick;  both  eulogistic  of  the  absent 
brother;  and  Jane,  who  could  be  playful  in  privacy  with 
friends,  clapped  a  brogue  on  her  tongue  to  discourse  of 
Patrick  and  apostrophise  him:  "Oh!  Pat,  Pat,  my  dear 
cousin  Pat!  why  are  you  so  long  away  from  your  despond- 
ing Jane  ?  I'll  take  to  poetry  and  write  songs,  if  you  don't 
come  home  soon.  You've  put  seas  between  us,  and  are 
behaving  to  me  as  an  enemy.  I  know  you'll  bring  home 
a  foreign  Princess  to  break  the  heart  of  your  faithful.  But 
I'll  always  praise  you  for  a  dear  boy,  Pat,  and  wish  you 
happy,  and  beg  the  good  gentleman  your  brother  to  give 
me  a  diploma  as  nurse  to  your  first-born.     There  now!" 

She  finished  smiling  brightly,  and  Grace  was  a  trifle 
astonished,  for  her  friend's  humour  was  not  as  a  rule 
dramatic. 

"You  really  have  caught  a  twang  of  it  from  your  friend 
Captain  Con;  only  you  don't  rattle  the  eighteenth  letter 
of  the  alphabet  in  the  middle  of  words." 

"I've  tried,  and  can't  persuade  my  tongue  to  do  it 
'first  off,'  as  boys  say,  and  my  invalid  has  no  brogue  what- 
ever to  keep  me  in  practice,"  Jane  replied.  "One  wonders 
what  he  thinks  of  as  he  lies  there  by  the  window.  lie 
doesn't  confide  it  to  his  hospital  nurse." 

"Yes,  he  would  treat  her  courteously,  just  in  that  military 
style,"  said  Grace,  realising  the  hospital  attendance. 


242  CELT  AND  SAXON 

"It's  the  style  I  like  best:  —  no  perpetual  personal 
thankings  and  allusions  to  the  trouble  he  gives!"  Jane 
exclaimed.  "He  shows  perfect  good  sense,  and  I  like  that 
in  all  things,  as  you  know.  A  red-haired  young  woman 
chooses  to  wait  on  him  and  bring  him  flowers  —  he's 
brother  to  Patrick  in  his  love  of  wild  flowers,  at  all  events ! 
—  and  he  takes  it  naturally  and  simply.  These  oflScers 
bear  illness  well.     I  suppose  it's  the  drill." 

"Still  I  think  it  a  horrid  profession,  dear." 

Grace  felt  obliged  to  insist  on  that:  and  her  "I  think," 
though  it  was  not  stressed,  tickled  Jane's  dormant  ear  to 
some  drowsy  wakefulness. 

"I  think  too  much  honour  is  paid  to  it,  certainly.  But 
soldiers,  of  all  men,  one  would  expect  to  be  overwhelmed 
by  a  feeling  of  weakness.  He  has  never  complained;  not 
once.  I  doubt  if  he  would  have  complained  if  Mrs. 
Adister  had  been  waiting  on  him  all  the  while,  or  not  a 
soul.  I  can  imagine  him  lying  on  the  battlefield  night  after 
night  quietly,  resolving  not  to  groan." 

"Too  great  a  power  of  self -repression  sometimes  argues 
the  want  of  any  emotional  nature,"  said  Grace. 

Jane  shook  her  head.  She  knew  a  story  of  him  con- 
tradicting that. 

The  story  had  not  recurred  to  her  since  she  had  under- 
taken her  service.  It  coloured  the  remainder  of  an  evening 
walk  home  through  the  beechwoods  and  over  the  common 
with  Grace,  and  her  walk  across  the  same  tracks  early 
in  the  morning,  after  Grace  had  gone  to  London.    Miss 


CAPTAIN  con's  letter  243- 

Colesworth  was  coming  to  her  next  week,  with  her  brother 
if  he  had  arrived  in  England.  Jane  remembered  having 
once  been  curious  about  this  adventurous  man  of  Letters 
who  Uved  by  the  work  of  his  pen.  She  remembered  com-^ 
paring  him  to  one  who  was  compelled  to  swim  perpetually 
without  a  ship  to  give  him  rest  or  land  in  view.  He  had 
made  a  little  money  by  a  book,  and  was  expending  it  on 
travels  —  rather  imprudently,  she  fancied  Emma  Coles- 
worth  to  be  thinking.  He  talked  well,  but  for  the  present 
she  was  happier  in  her  prospect  of  nearly  a  week  of  loneli- 
ness. The  day  was  one  of  sunshine,  windless,  odorous: 
one  of  the  rare  placid  days  of  April  when  the  pettish  month 
assumes  a  matronly  air  of  summer  and  wears  it  till  the  end 
of  the  day.  The  beech  twigs  were  strongly  embrowned, 
the  larches  shot  up  green  spires  by  the  borders  of  woods 
and  on  mounds  within,  deep  ditch-banks  unrolled  profuse 
tangles  of  new  blades,  and  sharp  eyes  might  light  on  a  late 
white  violet  overlooked  by  the  children;  primroses  ran 
along  the  banks.  Jane  had  a  maxim  that  flowers  should 
be  spared  to  live  their  life,  especially  flowers  of  the  wilds^ 
she  had  reared  herself  on  our  poets;  hence  Mrs.  Lack- 
straw's  dread  of  the  arrival  of  one  of  the  minstrel  order: 
and  the  girl,  who  could  deliberately  cut  a  bouquet  from  the 
garden,  if  requested,  would  refuse  to  pluck  a  wildflower. 
But  now  they  cried  out  to  her  to  be  plucked  in  hosts,  they 
claimed  the  sacrifice,  and  it  seemed  to  her  no  violation  of 
her  sentiment  to  gather  handfuls,  making  a  bunch  that 
wouid  have  done  honour  to  the  procession  of  the  children's 


244  CELT  AND  SAXON 

May-day  —  a  day  she  excused  for  the  slaughter  because 
her  idol  and  prophet  among  the  poets,  wild  nature's  in- 
terpreter, was  that  day  on  the  side  of  the  children.  How 
like  a  bath  of  freshness  would  the  thick  faintly-fragrant 
mass  shine  to  her  patient !  Only  to  look  at  it  was  medicine  I 
She  believed,  in  her  lively  healthfulness,  that  the  look 
would  give  him  a  spring  to  health,  and  she  hurried  forward 
to  have  them  in  water  —  the  next  sacred  obligation  to  the 
leaving  of  them  untouched. 

She  had  reared  herself  on  our  poets.  If  much  brooding 
on  them  will  sometimes  create  a  sentimentalism  of  the 
sentiment  they  inspire,  that  also,  after  our  manner  of  de- 
veloping, leads  to  finer  civilisation ;  and  as  her  very  delicate 
feelings  were  not  always  tyrants  over  her  clear  and  accurate 
judgment,  they  rather  tended  to  stamp  her  character  than 
lead  her  into  foolishness.  Blunt  of  speech,  quick  in  sensi- 
bility, imaginative,  yet  idealistic,  she  had  the  complex 
character  of  diverse  brain  and  nerve,  and  was  often  a 
problem  to  the  chief  person  interested  in  it.  She  thought 
so  decisively,  felt  so  shrinkingly;  spoke  so  flatly,  brooded 
so  softly!  Such  natures,  in  the  painful  effort  to  reconcile 
apparent  antagonism  and  read  themselves,  forget  that  they 
are  not  full-grown.  Longer  than  others  are  they  young: 
but  meanwhile  they  are  of  an  age  when  we  are  driven 
abroad  to  seek  and  shape  our  destinies. 

Passing  through  the  garden-gate  of  Lappett's  farm  she 
made  her  way  to  the  south-western  face  of  the  house  to  beg 
a  bowl  of  water  of  the  farmer's  wife,  and  had  the  sweet 


CAPTAIN  con's  letter  245 

surprise  of  seeing  her  patient  lying  under  swallows'  eaves  on 
a  chair  her  brother  had  been  commissioned  to  send  from 
London  for  coming  uses.  He  was  near  the  farm-wife's 
kitchen,  but  to  windward  of  the  cooking-reek,  pleasantly 
warmed,  sufficiently  shaded,  and  alone,  with  open  letter 
on  the  rug  covering  his  legs.  He  whistled  to  Jane's  dog 
Wayland,  a  retriever,  having  Newfoundland  relationships, 
of  smithy  redness  and  ruggedness;  it  was  the  whistle  that 
startled  her  to  turn  and  see  him  as  she  was  in  the  act  of 
handing  Mrs.  Lappett  her  primroses. 

"Out?  I  feared  it  would  be  a  week.  Is  it  quite  pru- 
dent?" Jane  said,  toning  down  her  delight. 

He  answered  with  the  half-smile  that  refers  these  ques- 
tions to  the  settled  fact.  Air  had  always  brought  him 
round;  now  he  could  feel  he  was  embarked  for  recovery: 
and  he  told  her  how  the  farmer  and  one  of  his  men  had  lent 
a  shoulder  to  present  him  to  his  old  and  surest  physician  — 
rather  like  a  crippled  ghost.  Mrs.  Adister  was  upstairs  in 
bed  with  one  of  her  headaches.  Captain  Con,  then,  wa.s 
attending  her,  Jane  supposed.  She  spoke  of  him  as  tiie 
most  devoted  of  husbands. 

A  slight  hardening  of  Philip's  brows,  well-known  to  her 
by  this  time,  caused  her  to  interrogate  his  eyes.  They 
were  fixed  on  her  in  his  manner  of  gazing  with  strong 
directness.  She  read  the  contrary  opinion,  and  some 
hieroglyphic  matter  besides. 

"We  all  respect  him  for  his  single-hearted  care  of  her," 
she  said.     "I  have  a  great  liking  for  him.     His  tirades 


246  CELT  AND  SAXON 

about  the  Saxon  tyrant  are  not  worth  mentioning,  they 
mean  nothing.  He  would  be  one  of  the  first  to  rush  to  the 
standard  if  there  were  danger;  I  know  he  would.  He  is 
truly  chivalrous,  I  am  sure." 

Philip's  broad  look  at  her  had  not  swerved.  The  bowl 
of  primroses  placed  beside  him  on  a  chair  by  the  farmer's 
dame  diverted  it  for  a  moment. 

"You  gathered  them?"  he  said. 

Jane  drank  his  look  at  the  flowers. 

"Yes,  on  my  way,"  she  replied.  "We  can  none  of  us 
live  for  ever;  and  fresh  water  every  day  will  keep  them 
alive  a  good  long  time.  They  had  it  from  the  clouds 
yesterday.  Do  they  not  seem  a  bath  of  country  happiness ! " 
Evidently  they  did  their  service  in  pleasing  him. 

Seeing  his  fingers  grope  on  the  rug,  she  handed  him  his 
open  letters. 

He  selected  the  second,  passing  under  his  inspection, 
and  asked  her  to  read  it. 

She  took  the  letter,  wondering  a  little  that  it  should  be  in 
Captain  Con's  handwriting. 

"I  am  to  read  it  through?"  she  said,  after  a  run  over 
some  lines. 

He  nodded.  She  thought  it  a  sign  of  his  friendliness  in 
sharing  family  secrets  with  her,  and  read: 

"My  dear  Philip,  —  Not  a  word  of  these  contents, 
which  will  be  delivered  seasonably  to  the  lady  chiefly  con- 
cerned, by  the  proper  person.     She  hears  this  morning 


CAPTAIN  con's  letter  247 

I'm  off  on  a  hasty  visit  to  Ireland,  as  I  have  been  preparing 
her  of  late  to  expect  I  must,  and  yours  the  blame,  if  any, 
though  I  v^^ill  be  the  last  to  fling  it  at  you.  I  meet  Father  B. 
and  pretty  Kitty  before  I  cross.  Judging  by  the  wind  this 
morning,  the  passage  will  furnish  good  schooling  for  a 
spell  of  the  hustings.  But  if  I  am  in  the  nature  of  things 
unable  to  command  the  waves,  trust  me  for  holding  a  mob 
in  leash;  and  they  are  tolerably  alike.  My  spirits  are  up. 
Now  the  die  is  cast.  My  election  to  the  vacancy  must  be 
reckoned  beforehand.  I  promise  you  a  sounding  report 
from  the  Kincora  Herald.  They  will  not  say  of  me  after 
that  (and  read  only  the  speeches  reported  in  the  local  paper) 
—  'what  is  the  man  but  an  Irish  adventurer!'  He  is  a 
lover  of  his  country,  Philip  O'Donnell,  and  one  of  millions, 
we  will  hope.  And  that  stigmatic  title  of  long  standing,  more 
than  anything  earthly,  drove  him  to  the  step  —  to  the  ruin 
of  his  domestic  felicity  perhaps.     But  we  are  past  sighing. 

Think  you,  when  he  crossed  the  tide, 
Caius  Julius  Caesar  sighed  ? 

"No,  nor  thought  of  his  life,  nor  his  wife,  but  of  the 
thing  to  be  done.  Laugh,  my  boy!  I  know  what  I  am 
about  when  I  set  my  mind  on  a  powerful  example.  As  the 
chameleon  gets  his  colour,  we  get  our  character  from  the 
objects  we  contemplate  .  .  ." 

Jane  glanced  over  the  edge  of  the  letter  sheet  rosily  at 
Philip. 

"The  chameleon,"  he  remarked. 


248  CELT  AND   S.\XON 

His  dryness  in  hitting  the  laughable  point  diverted  her, 
and  her  mind  became  suffused  with  a  series  of  pictures  of 
the  chameleon  captain  planted  in  view  of  the  Roman  to 
become  a  copy  of  him,  so  that  she  did  not  peruse  the  termi- 
nating lines  with  her  wakef  ullest  attention : 

"The  liege  lady  of  my  heart  will  be  the  earliest  to  hail 
her  hero  triumphant,  or  cherish  him  beaten  —  which  is 
not  in  the  prospect.  Let  Ireland  be  true  to  Ireland.  We 
will  talk  of  the  consolidation  of  the  Union  by  and  by. 
You  are  for  that,  you  say,  when  certain  things  are  done; 
and  you  are  where  I  leave  you,  on  the  highway,  though 
seeming  to  go  at  a  funeral  pace  to  certain  ceremonies 
leading  to  the  union  of  the  two  countries  in  the  solidest 
fashion,  to  their  mutual  benefit,  after  a  shining  example. 
Con  sleeps  with  a  corner  of  the  eye  open,  and  you  are  not 
the  only  soldier  who  is  a  strategist,  and  a  tactician  too, 
aware  of  when  it  is  best  to  be  out  of  the  way.  Now  adieu 
and  "pax  vobiscum.  Reap  the  rich  harvest  of  your  fall  to 
earth.  I  leave  you  in  the  charge  of  the  kindest  of  nurses, 
next  to  the  wife  of  my  bosom  the  best  of  women.  Ap- 
preciate her,  sir,  or  perish  in  my  esteem.  She  is  one  whom 
not  to  love  is  to  be  guilty  of  an  offence  deserving  capital 
punishment,  and  a  bastinado  to  season  the  culprit  for  his 
execution.  Have  I  not  often  informed  her  myself  that  a 
flower  from  her  hand  means  more  than  treasures  from  the 
hands  of  others.  Expect  me  absent  for  a  week.  The 
harangues  will  not  be  closely  reported.  I  stand  by  the 
truth,  which  is  my  love  of  the  land  of  my  birth.     A  wife 


CAPTAIN  con's  letter  249 

must  come  second  to  that  if  she  would  be  first  in  her 
husband's  consideration.  Hurrah  me  on,  Philip,  now  it  is 
action,  and  let  me  fancy  I  hear  you  shouting  it." 

The  drop  of  the  letter  to  the  signature  fluttered  affection- 
ately on  a  number  of  cordial  adjectives,  like  the  airy  bird 
to  his  home  in  the  corn. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


MARS   CONVALESCENT 


Jane's  face  was  clear  as  the  sky  when  she  handed  the 
letter  back  to  Philip.  In  doing  so,  it  struck  her  that  the 
prolonged  directness  of  his  look  was  peculiar:  she  attrib- 
uted it  to  some  effect  of  the  fresh  Spring  atmosphere  on  a 
weakened  frame.  She  was  guessing  at  his  reasons  for 
showing  her  the  letter,  and  they  appeared  possibly  serious. 

"An  election  to  Parliament!  Perhaps  Mrs.  Adister 
should  have  a  hint  of  it,  to  soften  the  shock  I  fear  it  may 
be:  but  we  must  wait  till  her  headache  has  passed,"  she 
said. 

"You  read  to  the  end  ?"  said  Philip. 

"Yes,  Captain  Con  always  amuses  me,  and  I  am  bound 
to  confess  I  have  no  positive  disrelish  of  his  compliments. 
But  this  may  prove  a  desperate  step.  The  secret  of  his 
happiness  is  in  extreme  jtx)pardy.  Nothing  would  stop 
him,  I  suppose?" 

Philip  signified  that  it  was  too  late.  He  was  moreover 
of  opinion,  and  stated  it  in  his  briefest,  that  it  would  be 
advisable  to  leave  the  unfolding  of  the  present  secret  to 
the  captain. 

250 


MARS  CONVALESCENT  251 

Jane  wondered  why  the  letter  had  been  shown.  Her 
patient  might  be  annoyed  and  needing  sympathy  ? 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "Captain  Con  may  turn  out  to  be 
a  very  good  sort  of  member  of  Parliament  in  his  way." 

Philip's  eyebrows  lifted,  and  he  let  fall  a  breath,  eloquent 
of  his  thoughts. 

"My  brother  says  he  is  a  serviceable  director  of  the 
Company  they  are  associated  in." 

"He  finds  himself  among  reasonable  men,  and  he  is  a 
chameleon." 

"Parliament  may  steady  him." 

"It  is  too  much  of  a  platform  for  Con's  head." 

"Yes,  there  is  more  of  poet  than  politician,"  said  she. 
"That  is  a  danger.  But  he  calls  himself  our  friend;  I 
think  he  really  has  a  liking  for  John  and  me." 

"For  you  he  has  a  real  love,"  said  Philip. 

"Well,  then,  he  may  listen  to  us  at  times;  he  may  be 
trusted  not  to  wound  us.  I  am  unmitigatedly  for  the  one 
country  —  no  divisions.  We  want  all  our  strength  in  these 
days  of  monstrous  armies  directed  by  banditti  Councils. 
England  is  the  nation  of  the  Christian  example  to  nations. 
Oh!  surely  it  is  her  aim.  At  least  she  strives  to  be  that. 
I  think  it,  and  I  see  the  many  faults  we  have." 

Her  patient's  eyelids  were  down. 

She  proposed  to  send  her  name  up  to  Mrs.  Adister. 

On  her  return  from  the  poor  lady  racked  with  headache 
and  lying  little  conscious  of  her  husband's  powder-barrel 
under  the  bed,  Jane  found  her  patient  being  worried  by 


252  CELT  AND  SAXON 

his  official  nurse,  a  farm-labourer's  wife,  a  bundle  of  a 
woman,  whose  lumbering  assiduities  he  fenced  with  re- 
iterated humorous  negatives  to  every  one  of  her  proposi- 
tions, until  she  prefaced  the  last  two  or  three  of  the  list 
with  a  "Deary  me!"  addressed  consolatorily  to  herself. 
She  went  through  the  same  forms  each  day,  at  the  iisual 
hours  of  the  day,  and  Jane,  though  she  would  have  felt  the 
apathetic  doltishness  of  the  woman  less,  felt  how  hard  it 
must  be  for  him  to  bear. 

"Your  sister  will  be  with  you  soon,"  she  said.  "I  am 
glad,  and  yet  I  hope  you  will  not  allow  her  to  put  me  aside 
altogether?" 

"You  shall  do  as  you  wish,"  said  Philip. 

"Is  she  like  Patrick?    Her  name  is  Kathleen,  I  know." 

"She  is  a  raw  Irish  girl,  of  good  Irish  training,  but 
Irish." 

"I  hope  she  will  be  pleased  with  England.  Like  Pat- 
rick in  face,  I  mean." 

"We  think  her  a  good-looking  girl." 

"  Does  she  play  ?  sing  ?  " 

"Some  of  our  ballads." 

"She  will  delight  my  brother.     John  loves  Irish  ballads." 

A  silence  of  long  duration  fell  between  them.  She 
fancied  he  would  like  to  sleep,  and  gently  rose  to  slip  away, 
that  she  might  consult  with  Mrs.  Lappett  about  putting  up 
some  tent-cover.  He  asked  her  if  she  was  going.  "Not 
home,"  she  said.  His  hand  moved,  but  stopped.  It 
seemed  to  have  meant  to  detain  her.     She  looked  at  a  whit*- 


MARS  CONVALESCENT  253 

fleece  that  came  across  the  sun,  desiring  to  conjure  it  to  stay 
and  shadow  him.     It  sailed  by.    She  raised  her  parasol. 

His  eyelids  were  shut,  and  she  thought  him  asleep. 
Meditating  on  her  unanswered  question  of  Miss  Kathleen's 
likeness  to  Patrick,  Jane  imagined  a  possibly  greater  like- 
ness to  her  patient,  and  that  he  did  not  speak  of  his  family's 
exclamations  on  the  subject  because  of  Kathleen's  being 
so  good-looking  a  girl.  For  if  good-looking,  a  sister  must 
resemble  these  handsome  features  here,  quiescent  to  in- 
spection in  their  marble  outlines  as  a  corse.  So  might  he 
lie  on  the  battlefield,  with  no  one  to  watch  over  himl 

While  she  watched,  sitting  close  beside  him  to  shield  his 
head  from  the  sunbeams,  her  heart  began  to  throb  before 
she  well  knew  the  secret  of  it.  She  had  sight  of  a  tear  that 
grew  big  under  the  lashes  of  each  of  his  eyelids,  and  rolled 
heavily.    Her  own  eyes  overflowed. 

The  fit  of  weeping  was  momentary,  April's,  a  novelty 
with  her.  She  accused  her  silly  visions  of  having  softened 
her.  A  hasty  smoothing  to  right  and  left  removed  the 
traces;  they  were  unseen;  and  when  she  ventured  to  look 
at  him  again  there  was  no  sign  of  fresh  drops  falling.  His 
eyelids  kept  shut. 

The  arrival  of  her  diurnal  basket  of  provisions  offered 
a  refreshing  intervention  of  the  commonplace.  Bright  air 
had  sharpened  his  appetite-,  he  said  he  had  been  sure  it 
would,  and  anticipated  cheating  the  doctor  of  a  part  of  the 
sentence  which  condemned  him  to  lie  on  his  back  up  to  the 
middle  of  June,  a  log.     Jane  was  hungry  too,  and  they 


254  CELT  AND  SAXON 

feasted  together  gaily,  talking  of  Kathleen  on  her  journey, 
her  strange  impressions  and  her  way  of  proclaiming  them, 
and  of  Patrick  and  where  he  might  be  now;  ultimately  of 
Captain  Con  and  Mrs.  Adister. 

"He  has  broken  faith  with  her,"  Philip  said  sternly. 
"She  will  have  the  right  to  tell  him  so.  He  never  can  be 
anything  but  a  comic  politician.  Still  he  was  bound  to 
consult  his  wife  previous  to  stepping  before  the  public. 
He  knows  that  he  married  a  fortune." 

"A  good  fortune,"  said  Jane. 

Philip  acquiesced.  "She  is  an  excellent  woman,  a 
model  of  uprightness;  she  has  done  him  all  the  good  in  the 
world,  and  here  is  he  deceiving  her,  lying  —  there  is  no 
other  word :  and  one  lie  leads  to  another.  When  he  mar- 
ried a  fortune  he  was  a  successful  adventurer.  The 
compact  was  understood.  His  duty  as  a  man  of  honour 
is  to  be  true  to  his  bond  and  serve  the  lady.  Falseness  to 
his  position  won't  wash  him  clean  of  the  title." 

Jane  pleaded  for  Captain  Con.  "He  is  chivalrously  at- 
tentive to  her." 

"You  have  read  his  letter,"  Philip  replied. 

He  crushed  her  charitable  apologies  with  references  to 
the  letter. 

"We  are  not  certain  that  Mrs.  Adister  will  object,"  said 
she. 

"Do  you  see  her  reading  a  speech  of  her  husband's?" 
he  remarked.  Presently  with  something  like  a  moan 
"And  1  am  her  guest!" 


MARS  CONVALESCENT  255 

"Ohl  pray,  do  not  think  Mrs.  Adister  will  ever  allow 
you  to  feel  the  lightest  shadow  ..."  said  Jane. 

"No;  that  makes  it  worse." 

Had  this  been  the  burden  of  his  thoughts  when  those 
two  solitary  tears  forced  their  passage  ? 

Hardly:  not  even  in  his  physical  weakness  would  he 
consent  to  weep  for  such  a  cause. 

"I  forgot  to  mention  that  Mrs.  Adister  has  a  letter  from 
her  husband  telling  her  he  has  been  called  over  to  Ireland 
on  urgent  business,"  she  said. 

Philip  answered:     "He  is  punctilious." 

"I  wish  indeed  he  had  been  more  candid,"  Jane  assented 
to  the  sarcasm. 

"In  Ireland  he  is  agreeably  suqjrised  by  the  flattering 
proposal  of  a  vacant  seat,  and  not  having  an  instant  to 
debate  on  it,  assumes  the  consent  of  the  heavenliest  wife 
in  Christendom." 

Philip  delivered  the  speech  with  a  partial  imitation  of 
Captain  Con  addressing  his  wife  on  his  return  as  the 
elected  among  the  pure  Irish  party.  The  effort  wearied 
him. 

She  supposed  he  was  regretting  his  cousin's  public  prom- 
inence in  the  ranks  of  the  malcontents.  "He  will  listen  to 
you,"  she  said,  while  she  smiled  at  his  unwonted  display 
of  mimicry. 

"A  bad  mentor  for  him.  Antics  are  harmless,  though 
they  get  us  laughed  at,"  said  Philip. 

"You  may  restrain  him  from  excesses." 


256  CELT  AND  SAXON 

"Were  I  in  that  position,  you  would  consider  me  guilty 
of  greater  than  any  poor  Con  is  likely  to  commit." 

"Surely  you  are  not  for  disunion  ?" 

"The  reverse.  I  am  for  union  on  juster  terms,  that  will 
hold  it  fast." 

"But  what  are  the  terms?" 

He  must  have  desired  to  paint  himself  as  black  to  her 
as  possible.  He  stated  the  terms,  which  were  hardly  less 
than  the  affrighting  ones  blown  across  the  Irish  sea  by  that 
fierce  party.  He  held  them  to  be  just,  simply  sensible 
terms.  True,  he  spoke  of  the  granting  them  as  a  sure 
method  to  rally  all  Ireland  to  an  ardent  love  of  the  British 
flag.  But  he  praised  names  of  Irish  leaders  whom  she  had 
heard  Mr.  Rockney  denounce  for  disloyal  insolence:  he 
could  find  excuses  for  them  and  their  dupes  —  poor  crea- 
tures, verily  1  And  his  utterances  had  a  shocking  emphasis. 
Then  she  was  not  wrong  in  her  idea  of  the  conspirator's 
head,  her  first  impression  of  him! 

She  could  not  quit  the  theme:  doing  that  would  have 
been  to  be  indifferent:  something  urged  her  to  it. 

"Are  they  really  your  opinions?" 

He  seemed  relieved  by  declaring  that  they  were. 

"Patrick  is  quite  free  of  them,"  said  she. 

"We  will  hope  that  the  Irish  fever  will  spare  Patrick. 
He  was  at  a  Jesuit  college  in  France  when  he  was  wax. 
Now  he's  taking  the  world." 

"With  so  little  of  the  Jesuit  in  him!" 

"Little  of  the  worst:  a  good  deal  of  the  best." 


MARS  CONVALESCENT  2b/ 

"WTiatisthebeat?" 

"Their  training  to  study.  They  train  you  to  concen- 
trate the  brain  upon  the  object  of  study.  And  they  train 
you  to  accept  service:  they  fit  you  for  absolute  service: 
they  shape  you  for  your  duties  in  the  world;  and  so  long  as 
they  don't  smelt  a  man's  private  conscience,  they  are  model 
masters.  Happily  Patrick  has  held  his  own.  Not  the 
Jesuits  would  have  a  chance  of  keeping  a  grasp  on  Patrick! 
He'll  always  be  a  natural  boy  and  a  thoughtful  man." 

Jane's  features  implied  a  gentle  shudder. 

"I  shake  a  scarlet  cloak  to  you?"  said  Philip. 

She  was  directed  by  his  words  to  think  of  the  scarlet 
coat.  "  I  reflect  a  little  on  the  substance  of  things  as  well," 
she  said.  "Would  not  Patrick's  counsels  have  an  in- 
fluence?" 

"Hitherto  our  Patrick  has  never  presumed  to  counsel 
his  elder  brother." 

"But  an  officer  wearing  ..." 

"The  uniform!  That  would  have  to  be  stripped  ofiF. 
There'd  be  an  end  to  any  professional  career." 

"You  would  not  regret  it?" 

"No  sorrow  is  like  a  soldier's  bidding  farewell  to  flag 
and  comrades.  Happily  politics  and  I  have  no  business 
together.  If  the  country  favours  me  with  active  service 
I'm  satisfied  for  myself.  You  asked  me  for  my  opinions: 
I  was  bound  to  give  them.     Generally  I  let  them  rest." 

Could  she  have  had  the  temerity?  Jane  marvelled  at 
herself. 


258  CELT  AND  SAXON 

She  doubted  that  the  weighty  pair  of  tears  had  dropped 
for  the  country.  Captain  Con  would  have  shed  them  over 
Erin,  and  many  of  them.  Captain  Philip's  tone  was  too 
plain  and  positive:  he  would  be  a  most  practical  unhis- 
trionic  rebel. 

"You  would  countenance  a  revolt?"  she  said,  striking 
at  that  extreme  to  elicit  the  favourable  answer  her  tones 
angled  for.    And  it  was  instantly: 

"Not  in  arms."  He  tried  an  explanation  by  likening 
the  dissension  to  a  wrangle  in  a  civilised  family  over  an 
imjust  division  of  property. 

And  here,  as  he  was  marking  the  case  with  some  nicety 
and  difficulty,  an  itinerant  barrel-organ  crashed  its  tragic 
tale  of  music  put  to  torture  at  the  gate.  It  yelled  of  London 
to  Jane,  throttled  the  spirits  of  the  woods,  threw  a  smoke 
over  the  country  sky,  befouled  the  pure  air  she  loved. 

The  instrument  was  one  of  the  number  which  are 
packed  to  suit  all  English  tastes  and  may  be  taken  for  a 
rough  sample  of  the  jumble  of  them,  where  a  danceless 
quadrille-tune  succeeds  a  suicidal  Operatic  melody  and  is 
followed  by  the  weariful  hymn,  whose  last  drawl  pert  polka 
kicks  aside.  Thus  does  the  poor  Savoyard  compel  a  rich 
people  to  pay  for  their  wealth.  Not  without  pathos  in  the 
abstract  perhaps  do  the  wretched  machines  pursue  their 
revolutions  of  their  factory  life,  as  incapable  of  conceiving 
as  of  bestowing  pleasure:  a  bald  cry  for  pennies  through 
the  barest  pretence  to  be  agreeable :  but  Jane  found  it  hard 
to  be  tolerant  of  them  out  of  London,  and  this  one  affecting 


MARS  CONVALESCENT  259 

her  invalid  and  Mrs.  Adister  must  be  dismissed.  Way- 
land  was  growling;  he  had  to  be  held  by  the  collar.  He 
spied  an  objectionable  animal.  A  jerky  monkey  was  at- 
tached to  the  organ;  and  his  coat  was  red,  his  kepi  was 
blue;  his  tailor  had  rigged  him  as  a  military  gentleman. 
Jane  called  to  the  farm-wife.  Philip  assured  her  he  was 
not  annoyed.  Jane  observed  him  listening,  and  by  degrees 
she  distinguished  a  maundering  of  the  Italian  song  she 
had  one  day  sung  to  Patrick  in  his  brother's  presence. 

"I  remember  your  singing  that  the  week  before  I  went 
to  India,"  said  Philip,  and  her  scarlet  blush  flooded  her 
face. 

"Can  you  endure  the  noise?"  she  asked  him. 

"Con  would  say  it  shrieks  'murder.'  But  I  used  to  like 
it  once." 

Mrs.  Lappett  came  answering  to  the  call.  Her  children 
were  seen  up  the  garden  setting  to  one  another  with  squared 
aprons,  responsive  to  a  livelier  measure. 

"Bless  me,  miss,  we  think  it  so  cheerful!"  cried  Mrs. 
Lappett,  and  glanced  at  her  young  ones  harmonious  and 
out  of  mischief. 

"Very  well,"  said  Jane,  always  considerate  for  children. 
She  had  forgotten  the  racked  Mrs.  Adister. 

Now  the  hymn  of  Puritanical  gloom  —  the  peace-maker 
with  Providence  performing  devotional  exercises  in  black 
bile.  The  leaps  of  the  children  were  dashed.  A  sallow 
two  or  three  minutes  composed  their  motions,  and  then 
they  jumped  again  to  the  step  for  lively  legs.     The  simi- 


260  CELT  AND  SAXON 

larity  to  the  regimental  band  heading  soldiers  on  the  march 
from  Church  might  have  struck  Philip. 

"I  wonder  when  I  shall  see  Patrick!"  he  said,  quickened 
in  spite  of  himself  by  the  sham  sounds  of  music  to  desire 
changes  and  surprises. 

Jane  was  wondering  whether  he  could  be  a  man  still  to 
brood  tearfully  over  his  old  love. 

She  echoed  him.     "And  II    Soon,  I  hope." 

The  appearance  of  Mrs.  Adister  with  features  which 
were  the  acutest  critical  summary  of  the  discord  caused  toll 
to  be  paid  instantly,  and  they  beheld  a  flashing  of  white 
teeth  and  heard  Italian  accents.  The  monkey  saluted 
militarily,  but  with  painful  suggestions  of  his  foregone 
drilling  in  the  ceremony. 

"We  are  safe  nowhere  from  these  intrusions,"  Mrs. 
Adister  said;  "  not  on  these  hills ! — and  it  must  be  a  trial  for 
the  wretched  men  to  climb  them,  that  thing  on  their  backs  " 

"They  are  as  accustomed  to  it  as  mountain  smugglers 
bearing  packs  of  contraband,"  said  Philip. 

"Con  would  have  argued  him  out  of  hearing  before  he 
ground  a  second  note,"  she  resumed.  "I  have  no  idea 
when  Con  returns  from  his  unexpected  visit  to  Ireland." 

"Within  a  fortnight,  madam." 

"Let  me  believe  it!  You  have  heard  from  him?  But 
you  are  in  the  air!  exposed!  My  head  makes  me  stupid. 
It  is  now  five  o'clock.  The  air  begins  to  chill.  Con  will 
never  forgive  me  if  you  catch  a  cold,  and  I  would  not  incur 
his  blame." 


MAKS  CONVALESCENT  261 

The  eyes  of  Jane  and  Philip  shot  an  exchange. 

"Anything  you  command,  madam,"  said  Philip. 

He  looked  up  and  breathed  his  heaven  of  fresh  air.  Jane 
pitied,  she  could  not  interpose  to  thwart  his  act  of  resigna- 
tion. The  farmer,  home  for  tea,  and  a  footman,  took  him 
between  them,  crutched,  while  Mrs.  Adister  said  to  Jane: 
"The  doctor's  orders  are  positive:  —  if  he  is  to  be  a  man 
once  more,  he  must  rest  his  back  and  not  use  his  legs  for 
months.  He  was  near  to  being  a  permanent  cripple  from 
that  fall.  My  brother  Edward  had  one  like  it  in  his  youth. 
Soldiers  are  desperate  creatures." 

"  I  think  Mr.  Adister  had  his  fall  when  hunting,  was  it 
not?"  said  Jane. 

"Hunting,  my  dear." 

That  was  rather  different  from  a  fall  on  duty  before  the 
enemy,  incurred  by  severe  exhaustion  after  sunstroke!  .  .  . 

Jane  took  her  leave  of  Philip  beside  his  couch  of  im- 
prisonment in  his  room,  promising  to  return  in  the  early 
morning.  He  embraced  her  old  dog  Wayland  tenderly. 
Hard  men  have  sometimes  a  warm  affection  for  dogs. 

Walking  homeward  she  likewise  gave  Wayland  a  hug. 
She  called  him  "dear  old  fellow,"  and  questioned  him  of 
his  fondness  for  her,  warning  him  not  to  be  faithless  ever 
to  the  mistress  who  loved  him.  Was  not  her  old  Wayland 
as  good  a  protector  as  the  footman  Mrs.  Adister  pressed  her 
to  have  at  her  heels  ?    That  he  was ! 

Captain  Con's  behaviour  grieved  her.  And  it  certainly 
revived  an  ancient  accusation  against  his  countrymen.     If 


262  CELT  AND   SAXON 

he  cared  for  her  so  much,  why  had  he  not  placed  confidence 
in  her  and  commissioned  her  to  speak  of  his  election  to  his 
wife?  Irishmen  will  never  be  quite  sincere!  —  But  why 
had  his  cousin  exposed  him  to  one  whom  he  greatly  es- 
teemed? However  angry  he  might  be  with  Con  O'Don- 
nell  in  his  disapproval  of  the  captain's  conduct,  it  was  not 
very  considerate  to  show  the  poor  man  to  her  in  his  natural 
colours.  Those  words.  "The  consolidation  of  the  Union:" 
sprang  up.  She  had  a  dim  remembrance  of  words  ensu- 
ing: "ceremonies  going  at  a  funeral  pace  ...  on  the 
highway  to  the  solidest  kind  of  union:"  —  Yes,  he  wrote: 
"I  leave  you  to  .  .  ."  And  Captain  Philip  showed  her 
the  letter! 

She  perceived  motives  beginning  to  stir.  He  must  have 
had  his  intention :  and  now  as  to  his  character !  —  Jane 
was  of  the  order  of  young  women  possessing  active  minds 
instead  of  figured  pasteboard  fronts,  who  see  what  there  is 
to  be  seen  about  them  and  know  what  may  be  known 
instead  of  decorously  waiting  for  the  astonishment  of  revela- 
tions. As  soon  as  she  had  asked  herself  the  nature  of  the 
design  of  so  honourable  a  man  as  Captain  Philip  in  show- 
ing her  his  cousin's  letter,  her  blood  spun  round  and  round, 
waving  the  reply  as  a  torch;  and  the  question  of  his  char- 
acter confirmed  it. 

But  could  he  be  imagined  seeking  to  put  her  on  her 
guard  ?  There  may  be  modesty  in  men  well  aware  of  their 
personal  attractions:  they  can  credit  individual  women 
with  powers  of  resistance.     He  was  not  vain  to  the  degree 


MARS  CONVALESCENT  263 

which  stupefies  the  sense  of  there  being  weight  or  wisdom 
in  others.  And  he  was  honour's  own.  By  these  lights  of 
his  character  she  read  the  act.  His  intention  was  .  .  .  and 
even  while  she  saw  it  accurately,  the  moment  of  keen  per- 
ception was  overclouded  by  her  innate  distrust  of  her  claim 
to  feminine  charms.  For  why  should  he  wish  her  to  under- 
stand that  he  was  no  fortune-hunter  and  treated  heiresses 
with  greater  reserve  than  ordinary  women!  How  could 
it  matter  to  him  ?  —  She  saw  the  tears  roll.  Tears  of  men 
sink  plummet-deep;  they  find  their  level.  The  tears  of 
such  a  man  have  more  of  blood  than  of  water  in  them.  — 
What  was  she  doing  when  they  fell  ?  She  was  shading  his 
head  from  the  sun.  What,  then,  if  those  tears  came  of  the 
repressed  desire  to  thank  her  with  some  little  warmth.  He 
was  honour's  own,  and  warm-hearted  Patrick  talked  of 
him  as  a  friend  whose  heart  was  his  friend's.  Thrilling  to 
kindness,  and,  poor  soull  helpless  to  escape  it,  he  felt  per- 
haps that  he  had  never  thanked  her,  and  could  not.  He 
lay  there,  weak  and  tongue-tied:  hence  those  two  bright 
volumes  of  his  condition  of  weakness. 

So  the  pursuit  of  the  mystery  ended,  as  it  had  com- 
menced, in  confusion,  but  of  a  milder  sort  and  partially 
transparent  at  one  or  two  of  the  gates  she  had  touched. 
A  mind  capable  of  seeing  was  twisted  by  a  nature  that 
would  not  allow  of  open  eyes;  yet  the  laden  emotions  of 
her  nature  brought  her  round  by  another  channel  to  the 
stage  neighbouring  sight,  where  facts,  dimly  recognised  for 
such  as  they  may  be  in  truth,  are  accepted  under  their  dis- 


264  CELT  AND  SAXON 

guises,  because  disguise  of  them  is  needed  by  the  bashful 
spirit  which  accuses  itself  of  audaciousness  in  presuming 
to  speculate.  Had  she  asked  herself  the  reason  of  her 
extended  speculation,  her  foot  would  not  have  stopped 
more  abruptly  on  the  edge  of  a  torrent  than  she  on  that 
strange  road  of  vapours  and  flying  lights.  She  did  not; 
she  sang,  she  sent  her  voice  through  the  woods  and  took 
the  splendid  ring  of  it  for  an  assurance  of  her  peculiarly 
unshackled  state.  She  loved  this  liberty.  Of  the  men 
who  had  "done  her  the  honour,"  not  one  had  moved  her  to 
regret  the  refusal.  She  lived  in  the  hope  of  simply  doing 
good,  and  could  only  give  her  hand  to  a  man  able  to  direct 
and  help  her;  one  who  would  bear  to  be  matched  with  her 
brother.  Who  was  he?  Not  discoverable;  not  likely  to 
be. 

Therefore  she  had  her  freedom,  an  absolutely  unflushed 
freedom,  happier  than  poor  Grace  Barrow's.  Rumour 
spoke  of  Emma  Colesworth  having  a  wing  clipped.  How 
is  it  that  sensible  women  can  be  so  susceptible?  For, 
thought  Jane,  the  moment  a  woman  is  what  is  called  in 
love,  she  can  give  her  heart  no  longer  to  the  innocent  things 
about  her;  she  is  cut  away  from  Nature:  that  pure  well- 
water  is  tasteless  to  her.    To  me  it  is  wine! 

The  drinking  of  the  pure  well-water  as  wine  is  among 
the  fatal  signs  of  fire  in  the  cup,  showing  Nature  at  work 
rather  to  enchain  the  victim  than  bid  her  daughter  go. 
Jane  of  course  meant  the  poet's  "Nature."  She  did  not 
reflect  that  the  strong  glow  of  poetic  imagination  is  wanted 


MARS  CONVALESCENT  265 

to  hallow  a  passionate  devotion  to  the  inanimate;  for  this 
evokes  the  spiritual;  and  passionateness  of  any  kind  in 
narrower  brains  should  be  a  proclamation  to  us  of  sanguine 
freshets  not  coming  from  a  spiritual  source.  But  the  heart 
betraying  deluded  her.  She  fancied  she  had  not  ever  been 
so  wedded  to  Natiure  as  on  that  walk  through  the  bursting 
beechwoods,  that  sweet  lonely  walk,  perfect  in  loneliness, 
where  even  a  thought  of  a  presence  was  thrust  away  as  a 
desecration  and  images  of  souls  in  thought  were  shadowy. 

Her  lust  of  freedom  gave  her  the  towering  holiday.  She 
took  the  delirium  in  her  own  pure  fashion,  in  a  love  of  the 
bankside  flowers  and  the  downy  edges  of  the  young  beech- 
buds  fresh  on  the  sprays.  And  it  was  no  unreal  love, 
though  too  intent  and  forcible  to  win  the  spirit  from  the 
object.  She  paid  for  this  indulgence  of  her  mood  by  losing 
the  spirit  entirely.  At  night  she  was  a  spent  rocket.  What 
had  gone  she  could  not  tell :  her  very  soul  she  almost  feared. 
Her  glorious  walk  through  the  wood  seemed  burnt  out. 
She  struck  a  light  to  try  her  poet  on  the  shelf  of  the  elect 
of  earth  by  her  bed,  and  she  read,  and  read  flatness.  Not 
his  the  fault!  She  revered  him  too  deeply  to  lay  it  on  him. 
Whose  was  it  ?    She  had  a  vision  of  the  gulfs  of  bondage. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  human  persons  were  subject 
to  the  spells  of  persons  with  tastes,  aims,  practices,  pur- 
suits alien  to  theirs?  It  was  a  riddle  taxing  her  to  solve 
it  for  the  resistance  to  a  monstrous  iniquity  of  injustice, 
degrading  her  conception  of  our  humanity.  She  attacked 
it  in  the  abstract,  as  a  volimteer  champion  of  our  offended 


266  'CELT  AND  SAXON 

race.  And  Oh!  it  could  not  be.  The  battle  was  won 
without  a  blow. 

Thereupon  came  glimpses  of  the  gulfs  of  bondage,  deli' 
cious,  rose-enfolded,  foreign;  they  were  chapters  of  soft 
romance,  appearing  interminable,  an  endless  mystery,  an 
insatiable  thirst  for  the  mystery.  She  heard  crashes  of 
the  opera-melody,  and  despising  it  even  more  than  the 
wretched  engine  of  the  harshness,  she  was  led  by  it,  tjTan- 
nically  led  a  captive,  like  the  organ-monkey,  until  p<  ^  ?ce 
she  usurped  the  note,  sounded  the  cloying  tune  through 
her  frame,  passed  into  the  vulgar  sugariness,  lost  herself. 

And  saying  to  herself:  This  is  what  moves  them!  she 
was  moved.  One  thrill  of  appreciation  drew  her  on  the 
tide,  and  once  drawn  from  shore  she  became  submerged. 
AVhy  am  I  not  beautiful,  was  her  thought.  Those  voluptu- 
ous modulations  of  melting  airs  are  the  natural  clothing  of 
beautiful  women.  Beautiful  women  may  believe  them- 
selves beloved.  They  are  privileged  to  believe,  they  are 
born  with  the  faith. 


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